SttfiTRAND  SMIi  h* 
ACRES  OF  BOOKS 

4«  PACIFIC  AVITNUV 
CALII* 


By  GUY  THORNE 

When   It   Was   DarK 

The  Story  of  a.  Great  Conspiracy 
12°.     (By  mail,  $1.35)      .      .      Net,  $1.20 

A.   Lost   Cause 

12° $1.50 


G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

ffeiv  York  and  London 


A  LOST  CAUSE 


BY 

GUY  THORNE 

AUTHOR   OF    "WHEN   IT   WAS   DARK,"    ETC. 


G.  P.   PUTNAM'S    SONS 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

Gbe  "Knickerbocker  press 

1905 


"Che  Knickerbocker  jpresa,  *U\v 


SRLG 
URL 


PREFACE 

A  FEW  words  are  necessary  in  preface  to  this 
**  story.  After  When  It  Was  Dark  made 
its  appearance,  the  writer  received  a  great 
number  of  letters  from  his  readers,  and  up  to 
the  present  moment  he  still  continues  to  re- 
ceive them. 

Out  of  nearly  two  hundred  communications, 
a  large  proportion  are  concerned  not  so  much 
with  the  main  issue  of  the  tale,  as  with  con- 
troversial matters  in  the  Church  of  England 
arising  from  it. 

The  definitely  Catholic  *  tone  of  the  first 
book  aroused,  as  might  be  expected,  vigorous 
protest,  and  no  less  vigorous  commendation. 
The  five  or  six  Bishops — and  many  other  dig- 
nitaries— who  preached  or  lectured  about  the 
story  avoided  the  controversial  sides  of  it. 
But  the  writer  has  received  innumerable 


*  The  term  "  Catholic  "  is  here,  and  throughout  the  book, 
used  in  the  sense  in  which  it  is  employed  by  a  certain  divi- 
sion of  the  Church  of  England  and  of  the  Episcopal  Church 
of  America. — The  PUBLISHERS. 


iv  Preface 

letters  from  the  clergy  and  others  to  the  fol- 
lowing effect. 

It  was  pointed  out  to  him  that  while  the 
extreme  "Protestant"  party  was  constantly 
employing  fiction  as  a  method  of  propaganda, 
churchmen  were  almost  unrepresented  in  this 
way.  The  Catholic  Faith  has  been  bitterly 
assailed  over  and  over  again  in  books  which 
are  well  enough  written,  and  have  sufficient 
general  interest  to  appeal  to  the  man  of  the 
world,  who  is  often  indifferent  to  the  points 
debated. 

After  considerable  discussion,  the  writing  of 
A  Lost  Cause  was  resolved  upon.  The  author 
desires  to  thank  those  priests  who  have  as- 
sisted him  with  their  counsel  and  experience, 
and  begs  leave  to  explain  here  something  of 
his  aims  in  publishing  the  tale. 

At  no  period  in  modern  Church  history  has 
the  Church  been  assailed  with  such  malig- 
nance,  slander,  and  untruth  as  at  the  present. 
"Protestantism"  within  the  Church  is  a  lost 
cause,  it  is  dying,  and  for  just  this  reason 
the  clamour  is  loudest,  the  misrepresentation 
more  furious  and  envenomed.  Shrewd  op- 
portunists are  taking  their  last  chance  of 
emerging  from  obscurity  by  an  appeal  to  the 
ignorance  of  the  general  public  on  Church 


Preface  v 

matters.  Looking  round  us,  we  see  dozens  of 
uneducated  and  noisy  nobodies  who  have 
elected  themselves  into  a  sort  of  irregular 
prelacy  and  dubbed  themselves  "Defenders 
of  the  Faith,"  with  about  as  much  right  as 
Napoleon  crowned  himself  emperor. 

Church  people  do  not  take  them  very 
seriously.  Their  voices  are  like  the  cries  of 
hedge-birds  by  the  road,  on  which  the  stately 
procession  of  the  Church  is  passing.  But  the 
man  in  the  street  is  more  attentive  and  he 
enjoys  the  colour  and  movement  of  icono- 
clasm.  He  believes  also  that  the  brawlers 
have  right  on  their  side. 

But  there  is  an  inherent  fairness  in  the  man 
in  the  street,  and,  if  this  story  reaches  him, 
he  will  have  his  opportunity  to  hear  the 
Catholic  side  of  the  argument. 

The  author  begs  to  state  that  no  single 
character  in  this  tale  is  a  "portrait"  of  any 
living  person,  or  of  any  real  person  whatever. 
The  imaginary  folk  are  designed  to  be  merely 
typical,  their  methods  are  analogous  to  much 
that  is  going  on  to-day  under  the  pretences 
of  patriotism  and  love  for  religious  liberty, 
but  that  is  all. 

There  will  probably  be  the  usual  nonsense 
written,  and  the  braves  of  "Protestantism" 


vi  Preface 

will  give  the  usual  war-whoops.  Whether 
this  is  to  be  so  or  not,  the  author  is  profoundly 
indifferent. 

He  attacks  those  of  the  extreme  "Protest- 
ants "  whom  he  believes  to  be  insincere  and 
who  rebel  against  the  Truth  for  their  own  ends. 
He  does  not  say  or  think  that  all  "Protest- 
ants"— even  the  extremists — are  insincere. 
He  has  endeavoured  to  point  out  that  there 
is  as  much  difference  between  the  street- 
corner  "Protestants"  and  the  pious  Evan- 
gelical Party  within  the  Church  as  there  is 
between  Trinitarians  and  Unitarians. 

The  incident  in  the  tale  where  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  compels  a  "Protestant" 
publicist  to  give  up  the  Blessed  Sacrament, 
which  he  has  stolen  from  a  church  for  purposes 
of  propaganda,  is  founded  on  fact.  It  has 
not  before  been  made  public,  except  in  a 
short  letter  to  the  Church  Times  a  few  months 
ago,  which  was  written  with  the  design  of 
preparing  Church  readers  for  the  detailed 
publication  of  such  a  painful  incident.  The 
facts,  however,  have  been  supplied  to  the 
writer  to  make  such  use  of  in  the  story  as 
he  thinks  fit.  The  authors  of  this  disgrace- 
ful profanation  have,  naturally,  been  silent  on 
the  matter.  It  is  not  an  isolated  instance. 


Preface  vii 

But  it  is  not  to  be  thought  that  the  imaginary 
characters  concerned  in  the  affair  in  the  story, 
are  intended  to  represent,  or  do  in  any  way, 
the  real  heroes  of  this  great  blow  struck  for 
"Protestant"  truth. 

Finally,  the  noisiest  "Protestants"  are  hit- 
ting the  Church  as  hard  as  they  can.  The 
author  has  endeavoured  to  hit  back  as  hard 
as  he  can — of  course,  in  that  spirit  of  Christ- 
ian love  in  which  the  "Protestants"  them- 
selves tell  us  these  controversies  are  always 
conducted. 

The  brawlers  have  enjoyed  an  astonishing 
immunity  hitherto,  and  it  is  only  fair  that 
battle  should  be  joined  now.  And,  however 
inadequate  his  forces  and  generalship,  that  is 
the  writer's  aim.  He  is,  of  course,  a  franc- 
tireur,  but  he  fires  his  musket  on  the  right 
side,  and  with  a  perfect  assurance  of  the 
justice  of  his  Cause. 

G.  T. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

I. — THE  INTERRUPTED  EUCHARIST       .         .         i 
II. — MR.  HAMLYN  AND  SON  AT  HOME    .         .       19 

III. LORD    HUDDERSFIELD   AND  THE  GUESTS 

AT  SCARNING  COURT  ....         38 

IV. — LUCY  BLANTYRE  AT  THE  CLERGY-HOUSE      69 

V. — WEALTHY  Miss  PRITCHETT  AND  POOR 
GUSSIE  DAVIES  ENTER  THE  VICAR- 
AGE GARDEN  .....  108 

VI. — BOADICEA,  JOAN    OF  ARC,  CHARLOTTE 
CORDAY,  JAEL,  AND  Miss  PRITCHETT 

OF  HORNHAM       .....       127 

VII. — THE  OFFICES  OF  THE  "LUTHER  LEAGUE" 

— AN  INTERIOR  .         .         .         .146 

VIII. — A  PRIVATE  CONFERENCE  AT  MIDNIGHT 

A  YEAR  LATER  .....     166 

IX. — A  UNION  OF  FORCES     ....     182 

X. — Low    WATER    AND    GREAT   EXPECTA- 
TIONS        *. 214 

XI. — THE  NEWS  THAT  CARR  BROUGHT         .     241 


x  Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGB 

XII. — THE  REPARATION  OF  JANE  PRITCHETT 

EX-PROTESTANT         .        .        .        .281 

XIII. — THE  ARCHBISHOP  AND  THE  HAMLYNS  .     302 


A  Lost  Cause 


A  LOST  CAUSE 


CHAPTER  I 

THE    INTERRUPTED   EUCHARIST 

THE  Church  of  St.  Elwyn  was  a  building  of 
brick  that  went  up  to  a  great  height. 

In  the  crowded  district  between  Hornsey 
and  Wood  Green,  it  was  one  of  the  largest 
buildings,  and,  though  not  externally  beauti- 
ful, acquired  dignity  and  impressiveness  from 
its  setting  of  small  villa  houses,  which  made 
an  interminable  brick  wilderness  all  round  it. 

It  was  nearing  the  time  of  the  High  Cele- 
bration on  a  Sunday  morning  in  summer. 
Matins  had  been  said  in  a  side  chapel,  to  a 
scanty  congregation,  at  half -past  nine,  and  now 
the  central  act  of  the  day  was  to  take  place. 

The  interior  of  St.  Elwyn's  was  severe  but 
beautiful,  save  for  one  or  two  minor  blem- 
ishes here  and  there. 

The  eye  was  caught  and  carried  away  down 


2  A  Lost  Cause 

the  aisles  till  it  found  its  focus  on  the  high 
altar  which  was  set  like  a  throne,  above  many 
marble  steps,  in  the  curve  of  the  distant  apse. 
The  sanctuary  was  lighted  from  the  sides  and 
so  the  eye  was  not  disturbed  and  distracted 
by  hideous  windows  of  stained  glass  with 
their  clamorous  coal-tar  colours,  but  could 
rest  quietly  upon  the  altar  with  its  green  and 
gold,  its  flowers  and  central  cross. 

The  organ  was  hidden  away  in  a  side  gallery 
and  the  pulpit  was  a  stone  bracket  high  in  the 
sweep  of  the  chancel  arch,  to  which  it  clung 
like  the  nest  of  a  bird  on  a  cliff  side. 

All  this  was  as  it  should  be.  In  so  many 
English  churches  the  object  of  the  builders 
appears  to  have  been  to  destroy  all  the  dig- 
nity and  beauty  possible  in  a  service.  The 
organ  and  the  pulpit  are  elevated  to  the  im- 
portance of  shrines,  and  dominate  everything 
like  Gog  and  Magog  in  the  Guildhall.  Every- 
thing is  done  to  minimise  the  place  and  office 
of  the  altar,  to  exalt  the  less  important  func- 
tions of  worship,  and  to  prevent  comfortable 
consciences  from  being  uneasy  in  the  realisa- 
tion of  the  presence  of  God. 

Only  one  tawdry  note  could  be  detected 
in  this  beautiful  church.  The  pictures  which 
hung  on  the  walls  round  the  aisles,  and  repre- 


The  Interrupted  Eucharist  3 

sented  the  stations  of  the  cross,  were  ill- 
drawn,  and  stiff  in  colour  and  design.  These 
pictures,  which  were  said  by  the  ignorant  and 
unimaginative  to  be  idolatrous,  or  at  least 
"Roman" — a  little  understood  but  very  effi- 
cacious term  of  reproach  in  the  parish — were 
sufficiently  like  the  hideous  stained-glass  fig- 
ures in  the  Evangelical  Church  of  St.  Luke 
hard  by  to  have  satisfied  the  most  pious  lover 
of  ugliness.  But  those  folk,  who  so  vehe- 
mently preferred  the  medallion  portraits  of 
their  respectable  ancestors  on  the  walls  of  a 
church  to  any  other  form  of  symbol  or  decora- 
tion, did  not  see  this.  They  spoke  bitterly  of 
the  pictures  as  being  "high,"  suggesting  to 
outsiders  unfamiliar  with  the  parrot  cry  of  the 
partisan  that  they  had  been  kept  too  long  in 
a  warm  place. 

Since  Father  Blantyre  had  been  appointed 
vicar  of  St.  Elwyn's,  the  congregation  had 
increased  until  few  of  the  rush-bottomed 
chairs  were  empty,  and  on  days  of  great  fes- 
tivals, people  would  be  found  kneeling  in  the 
aisles.  The  opposition  party  in  the  parish 
frequently  commented  on  this  custom,  which 
was  thought  to  savour  of  heathenism  or  worse. 
One  or  two  people  who  had  spent  holidays  in 
continental  towns,  and  had  made  excursions 


4  A  Lost  Cause 

into  foreign  cathedrals  in  much  the  same 
spirit  as  they  went  into  the  chamber  of  hor- 
rors in  the  wax-work  exhibition,  had  brought 
back  news  that  this  habit  was  in  vogue 
among  "the  Catholics."  It  was  felt  that  real 
salvation  could  only  be  found  in  a  pew,  with 
one's  name  legibly  written  on  an  ivory  tablet 
at  the  end  and  the  vestry-clerk  calling  for  the 
rent  once  a  quarter  in  the  decent  old-fash- 
ioned way.  Any  one  who  knelt  on  the  un- 
cushioned  stone  showed  an  anxiety  to  worship 
and  a  superstitious  abasement  quite  un- 
worthy of  a  bluff,  honest,  British  Christian; 
and  his  doings  must  be  displeasing  to  a  Deity 
who,  the  objectors  were  persuaded,  was — 
though  they  did  not  say  so  in  actual  words — 
a  great  English  God. 

The  single  bell  that  summoned  the  people 
to  Mass — that  word  which  church-people  are 
becoming  less  afraid  to  use  in  this  century — 
had  ceased.  The  server  was  lighting  the 
Eucharistic  candles  with  a  long  taper. 

As  the  people  came  in,  it  was  noticeable 
that  they  proceeded  to  their  places  without 
side-looks  at  each  other,  or  muttered  social 
greetings.  They  went  to  their  seats,  young 
and  old,  men  and  women,  and  began  to  kneel 
and' pray. 


The  Interrupted  Eucharist  5 

No  one,  apparently,  had  come  there  to  be 
seen  by  his  fellows. 

Since  the  Catholic  Revival  in  the  English 
Church,  no  fact  has  been  more  obvious  and 
easily  determined  than  this.  It  is  one  which 
the  bitterest  opponent  of  churchmanship  has 
never  been  able  to  deny  and  has  never  at- 
tempted to  deny.  The  most  prejudiced  ob- 
server paying  an  alternate  visit  to  a  church 
where  the  Faith  is  taught  and  to  another  which 
is  confessedly  "Protestant"  cannot  fail  to 
observe  the  difference.  At  the  celebration  of 
the  Eucharist  in  a  church  of  the  former  type, 
there  is  an  absolute  stillness  and  reverence. 
The  congregation  kneels,  it  worships. 

In  the  latter,  there  is  an  unrest.  People  do 
not  show  marked  consciousness  of  being  in 
the  presence  of  mysteries.  Whatever  they 
may  think,  they  do  not  give  the  observer  the 
impression  that  they  think  God  is  there. 
They  sit  rather  than  kneel,  they  notice  the 
clothes  of  other  people,  there  is  a  certain 
sense  that  they  are  doing  the  right  thing  in 
"patronising"  the  church,  and  the  Sunday 
dinner  looms  large  over  all. 

The  man  lit  the  candles.  A  moment  after- 
wards Father  Blantyre  entered  with  the 
servers  and  the  service  began. 


6  A  Lost  Cause 

The  singing  was  simple  but  harmonious. 
There  was  nothing  especially  noticeable  in  the 
hymn  or  the  chanting  of  the  Kyries  after  the 
commandments . 

The  priest  went  into  the  pulpit,  kissed  the 
white  stole,  and  placed  it,  as  a  yoke,  upon  his 
shoulders.  Over  his  head  was  a  crucifix.  He 
was  a  small  man,  dark  of  hair,  and  swarthy  of 
complexion.  The  nose  was  prominent  and 
aquiline,  the  eyes  bright,  with  a  net-work  of 
fine  wrinkles  round  them,  the  mouth  large  and 
mobile.  There  was  almost  a  suggestion  of  the 
comedian  in  his  face,  that  is,  in  its  extreme 
mobility  and  good-humour.  One  could  imag- 
ine him  as  a  merry  man  in  his  private  life. 
But  mingled  with  this,  one  saw  at  once  the 
lines  of  an  unalterable  purpose,  and  of  con- 
viction. Any  strong  belief  stamps  itself  upon 
a  man's  face  in  an  unmistakable  way.  When 
that  belief  is  purely  holy  and  good,  then  we 
say  that  the  man  has  the  face  of  a  saint. 

For  a  moment  or  two,  Mr.  Blantyre  looked 
round  the  church.  The  eyes,  so  puckered  at 
the  corners,  very  much  resembled  the  eyes  of 
a  sailor,  who  is  ever  gazing  out  towards  a 
vast  horizon  and  through  furious  winds.  Men 
who  are  much  occupied  with  the  Unseen  and 
Invisible  sometimes  have  this  look,  which  is 


The  Interrupted  Eucharist  7 

the  look  of  a  man  who  is  striving  to  see 
God. 

The  subject-matter  of  the  sermon  itself  was 
not  very  remarkable.  It  was  a  sermon  deal- 
ing with  the  aids  to  worship  that  symbol 
gives,  showing  how  a  proper  use  of  material 
objects  may  focus  the  brain  upon  the  reality 
behind  them.  During  the  last  week  or  two, 
the  local  paper  had  been  printing  some  violent 
attacks  upon  the  services  at  St.  Elwyn's, 
for  there  was  a  by-election  in  progress  and 
one  of  the  candidates  was  seizing  the  oppor- 
tunity afforded  by  a  "No  Popery"  cry. 

The  local  writer,  the  vicar  pointed  out,  was 
obviously  alarmed  lest  people  should  worship 
too  much.  He  spoke  of  the  attacks  with 
sincere  good  humour  and  more  than  once  his 
words  provoked  a  smile.  The  journalist,  with 
the  sublime  ignorance  of  lesser  local  scribes, 
had  spoken  of  Queen  Elizabeth  and  expressed 
a  fervent  desire  that  the  times  of  ' '  good  Queen 
Bess"  would  come  again  and  that  the  Royal 
Spinster  could  descend  on  the  purlieus  of 
Hornsey  and  sternly  order  all  Romish  toys  to 
be  removed.  Father  Blantyre  quoted  Eliza- 
beth's letter  to  Sandys : 

The  queen's  majesty  considered  it  not  contrary  to 
the  Word  of  God — nay,  rather  for  the  advantage  of 


8  A  Lost  Cause 

the  church — that  the  image  of  Christ  crucified, — to- 
gether with  Mary  and  John,  should  be  placed  as  here- 
tofore in  some  conspicuous  part  of  the  church,  where 
they  may  the  more  readily  be  seen  by  all  the  people. 

The  last  few  words  of  the  sermon  were 
preparatory  for  the  mystery  that  was  about 
to  begin,  an  earnest  exhortation  to  all  there  to 
make  themselves  ready  to  receive  the  Lord, 
who  was  presently  coming  among  them. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  short  discourse 
that  was  remarkable,  but  its  delivery  was  ex- 
traordinary. The  words  were  uttered  with 
a  great  tenderness  and  solemnity,  but  quite 
without  any  formal  note.  There  was  almost 
a  gaiety  in  them  now  and  then,  a  spiritual 
gaiety  that  was  very  impressive.  Father 
Blantyre  leaned  over  the  rail  and  talked  to 
his  people.  The  voice,  which  sank  into  a 
whisper  at  times,  and  at  others  rang  out  with 
a  sharpness  that  echoed  up  in  the  lofty  roof, 
never  once  lost  its  suggestion  of  confidential 
intimacy  with  those  to  whom  it  spoke.  In 
the  entire  absence  of  the  usual  "preaching" 
note,  the  sermon  gained  immensely  in  value 
with  this  particular  audience.  Anything  aca- 
demic would  have  been  endured,  but  it  would 
not  have  gone  home. 

While  the  offertory  sentences  were  being 


The  Interrupted  Eucharist  9 

sung,  the  congregation  saw  that  a  small  group 
of  people  had  entered  the  church,  presumably 
to  hear  Mass. 

One  of  the  churchwardens  was  able  to  find 
seats  for  the  party  about  half-way  down  the 
central  aisle.  The  new-comers  were  four  in 
number.  All  of  them  were  men. 

It  is  perhaps  strange  to  speak  of  one  of 
their  number  as  being  the  "leader"  of  the 
party,  but  that  was  the  impression  he  gave  to 
those  members  of  the  congregation  imme- 
diately around  him.  At  the  close  of  the  ser- 
vice, moreover,  several  worshippers  agreed 
with  each  other  that  this  person  had  suggested 
that  to  them. 

He  was  a  shortish,  thick-set  man  of  some 
five  and  forty  years  of  age.  His  large,  intel- 
ligent face  was  clean-shaved.  The  eyes  were 
small  and  very  bright,  shifting  hither  and 
thither  in  a  constant  flicker  of  observation. 
The  mouth  was  large,  and  though  the  lips 
were  thick  and  loose,  there  was  nevertheless 
a  certain  resolution  in  them.  They  were  fre- 
quently curved  into  a  half -smile  which  had 
something  indescribably  sinister  and  impudent 
about  it.  One  saw  that,  in  whatever  situa- 
tion he  might  find  himself,  this  person  would 
not  easily  be  abashed  or  unready. 


io  A  Lost  Cause 

He  wore  a  frock-coat  of  shining  broad- 
cloth. The  waistcoat  was  cut  low,  not  as 
well-dressed  people  would  wear  it,  showing  a 
large  expanse  of  imitation  shirt-front  through 
which  a  black  stud  was  thrust.  A  small  bow 
of  black  ribbon  served  as  necktie.  In  some 
nameless  way,  he  suggested  a  peculiarly  un- 
pleasing  type  of  irregular  dissenting  minister 
in  his  appearance,  and  this  was  enhanced  by 
the  fact  that  under  one  arm  he  carried  a  large 
Bible  of  limp  leather,  secured  by  an  india- 
rubber  band. 

Yet,  with  all  this,  the  new-comer  had  a 
remarkable  and  even  arresting  personality. 
Wherever  he  went,  he  would  not  easily  escape 
notice. 

By  his  side  sat  a  tallish  youth  with  suf- 
ficient likeness  to  him  to  proclaim  a  near 
relationship. 

The  young  fellow's  complexion  was  some- 
what muddy,  his  hair  was  smooth  and  mouse- 
coloured,  his  mouth  resembled  his  father's, 
except  that  it  had  not  the  impudent  good- 
humour  of  the  elder  man's,  and  was  altogether 
more  furtive  and  sly. 

The  two  remaining  members  of  the  party 
were  men  apparently  of  the  prosperous  small- 
tradesman  type,  pursy,  flabby  with  good 


The  Interrupted  Eucharist          n 

living,  who  had  added  mutton-chop  whiskers 
to  their  obvious  self-esteem. 

To  one  or  two  members  of  the  congregation 
there,  the  father  and  son  were  not  unknown. 
The  thick-set,  clean-shaved  man  was  Mr. 
Samuel  Hamlyn,  the  editor  and  proprietor  of 
a  small  local  journal, — the  Hornham  Observer, 
— and  the  youth  was  his  son,  who  acted  as 
reporter  to  the  paper  and  signed  himself 
S.  Hamlyn,  Junior. 

Both  were  well  known  in  local  affairs ;  Ham- 
lyn was  a  member  of  the  school-board  and 
held  one  or  two  kindred  positions.  His  re- 
ligious sympathies  had  hitherto  been  sup- 
posed to  lie  with  the  numerous  dissenting 
sects  in  the  parish,  all  of  whom  had  their 
bills  and  other  announcements  printed  at 
his  office. 

The  momentary  interest  and  stir  created  by 
the  entrance  of  the  party  died  away  almost 
immediately  and  Mass  continued.  Certainly 
no  one  in  the  church  realised  that  in  a  few 
short  weeks  the  fat  man  with  the  smile  would 
be  notorious  all  over  England,  and  that  they 
were  to  be  present  at  the  very  first  step  in 
the  career  of  one  of  the  shrewdest  of  vulgar 
opportunists  the  country  had  ever  known. 

The  seats  reserved  for  the  churchwardens 


1 2  A  Lost  Cause 

were  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  aisle,  but 
almost  upon  a  level  with  those  in  which  the 
new-comers  were  seated — perhaps  some  two 
rows  of  chairs  behind. 

Accordingly  Doctor  Hibbert,  the  vicar's 
warden,  had  a  clear  view  of  the  four  men  just 
in  front. 

Hibbert  was  an  upright,  soldierly-looking 
man,  who  had,  in  fact,  been  an  army  surgeon, 
and  had  now  bought  a  practice  in  the  parish. 
He  was  a  skilful  doctor,  and  a  man  of  con- 
siderable mental  strength,  who  had  made  him- 
self indispensable  in  the  district  and  was  in 
the  way  of  becoming  a  wealthy  man.  His 
earnest  churchmanship  had  not  militated 
against  his  success,  even  among  the  most  ex- 
treme Protestants  and  Dissenters  of  Hornham. 
He  was  known  to  be  a  first-class  doctor,  and 
he  was  too  strong  a  man  for  any  one  to  take 
a  liberty  with,  and  of  such  superior  power  and 
mould  to  the  mass  of  lower-class  people  whom 
he  attended  that  his  opinions  were  respected. 

But  going  about  as  he  did,  among  every 
one  in  the  parish,  the  Doctor  knew  far  more  of 
its  internal  state  than  any  one  else.  Nothing 
is  concealed  from  a  medical  man  in  general 
practice.  Confession  is  compulsory  to  him; 
he  sees  the  secrets  of  men's  lives,  knows  the 


The  Interrupted  Eucharist          13 

tarnished  story  of  the  "respectable"  person, 
as  sometimes  the  heroism  of  the  outcast. 
Hibbert  had  his  finger  on  the  public  pulse  of 
Hornham  in  a  measure  that  Father  Blantyre 
himself  could  hardly  achieve. 

It  was  therefore  with  some  little  uneasiness 
and  a  good  deal  of  conjecture  that  the  doctor 
had  noticed  the  advent  of  Hamlyn  and  his 
party. 

The  disturbances  to  public  worship  which 
are  so  familiar  to-day  were  quite  unknown 
at  that  time.  Hibbert  anticipated  nothing  of 
what  actually  occurred,  but  his  eye  was 
watchful  nevertheless. 

The  Mass  went  on. 

The  servers  knelt  on  the  altar  steps  in  cotta 
and  cassock,  the  priest  moved  above  them 
in  his  stiff,  flowered  chasuble,  robed  in  the 
garments  of  the  Passion  of  our  Lord. 

The  Comfortable  Words  were  said,  and  the 
Sursum  Cor  da  began. 

A  deep  throbbing  sound  came  from  the  organ, 
and,  in  one  great  outburst  of  solemn  avowal, 
the  congregation  lifted  up  their  hearts  to  God. 
SURSUM  CORDA! 
HABEMUS  AD  DOMINUM 
GRATIAS  AGAMUS  DOMINO  DEO  NOSTRo! 

Ever  since  the  days  of  the  Apostles,  the 


14  A  Lost  Cause 

Mass  had  been  said  thus,  the  most  solemn 
part  of  the  service  had  begun  with  these  pro- 
found words  of  adoration.  The  doctor  forgot 
all  else  as  he  worshipped. 

Let  it  be  remembered,  in  the  light  of  what 
follows,  that  the  vast  majority  of  the  people 
there  believed  this,  were  waiting  for  this — 
they  believed  that  when  the  priest  said  the 
Prayer  of  Consecration,  our  Lord  Himself  had 
come  suddenly  among  them. 

Throughout  the  rite  there  was  a  growing 
sense  and  assurance  of  One  coming.  Most  of 
them  were  quite  sure  of  it. 

Human  hearts,  worn  with  the  troubles  of 
the  week,  sick  to  death,  it  may  be,  of  a  hard 
material  lot,  now  bowed  in  contrition  and 
repentance,  or  were  filled  with  a  certain  Hope. 
Everything  in  this  world  was  as  nothing,  be- 
cause, upon  the  altar  before  which  the  priest 
was  bending  so  low,  they  believed  that  God 
had  come. 

In  what  way,  or  how,  they  did  not  know 
and  could  not  have  explained.  Did  they 
imagine  it  week  after  week  as  they  knelt  in 
church?  Most  of  them  knew  that  it  was  no 
imagination  or  delusion  that  caught  at  their 
hearts,  that  changed  the  air  of  the  building 
in  a  swift  moment,  that  caught  up  heart  and 


The  Interrupted  Eucharist          15 

soul  and  spirit  in  one  great  outpouring  of 
love  and  faith  and  adoration. 

Was  this  a  fable,  as  folks  sometimes  told 
them?  This  which  dissolved  and  broke  the 
chains  of  bodily  sense,  banished  the  world, 
and  enfolded  them  with  its  awful  sweetness, 
its  immeasurable  joy?  What  else  in  life  had 
power  to  do  this,  power  to  hurry  away  clog- 
ging, material  things  as  in  a  mighty  spiritual 
wind,  to  show  them  once  more  the  stupendous 
sacrifice  of  the  Saviour — what  else  but  the 
indubitable  presence  of  our  Lord  ? 

The  priest  held  up  the  Host. 

At  that  supreme  moment,  Doctor  Hibbert, 
whose  state  of  mind  may  be  taken  as  typical 
of  many  others  there,  bent  in  humble  adora- 
tion and  contrition. 

An  absolute  silence  lay  over  the  church; 
there  was  not  the  slightest  sound  or  move- 
ment in  it. 

A  chair  was  pushed  harshly  over  the  tiles, 
there  was  a  heavy  shuffling  of  feet.  Such 
sounds  in  that  holy  moment  affected  some  of 
the  worshippers  as  a  physical  blow  might  have 
done. 

But  few  people  looked  up.  Many  of  them 
did  not  hear  the  sound,  their  ears  being  tuned 
to  harmonies  that  were  not  of  this  world. 


1 6  A  Lost  Cause 

The  doctor  heard  the  noise  with  his  ears, 
but  for  a  merciful  moment  it  did  not  pene- 
trate to  his  brain.  And  then  with  a  horrid 
clangour  the  visible  things  of  the  world  came 
rushing  back  to  him. 

He  looked  up. 

The  four  men  just  in  front  of  him  had  risen 
in  their  places.  The  two  tradesmen  were  red 
in  the  face  and  manifestly  uneasy.  They 
breathed  hard,  a  breath  of  ostentatious 
defiance. 

Young  Hamlyn  was  glancing  round  the 
church  with  swift,  malevolent  movements  of 
his  head.  His  eyes  flickered  hither  and 
thither  until  they  finally  settled  on  the  mo- 
tionless figure  at  the  altar,  the  figure  with  the 
upstretched  arm. 

The  elder  Hamlyn  held  a  paper  in  his  hand, 
from  which  he  began  to  read  in  a  loud,  un- 
steady voice : 

"7,  Samuel  Hamlyn,  a  lawful  parishioner 
of  St.  Elwyris  parish,  Hornham,  do  hereby  rise 
and  protest  against  the  illegal  and  blasphemous 
fable  of  the  Mass  as  performed  in  this  church. 
And  as  a  member  of  the  Protestant  Church  of 
England  I  give  notice " 

Every  one  had  risen  to  his  feet.  In  a  dis- 
tant corner  of  the  church,  a  woman  began  to 


The  Interrupted  Eucharist          17 

shriek.  A  murmur  broke  into  shouts,  there 
was  a  crash  of  some  heavy  body  falling. 

A  horrid  tumult  seemed  broken  loose,  as  if 
it  had  been  confined  till  now  and  had  broken 
its  bars  with  one  great  effort. 

In  a  second,  the  four  men  were  surrounded 
by  a  pushing  crowd  of  men,  beside  them- 
selves with  horror  and  anger.  Sticks  began 
to  quiver  in  the  air,  the  crash  of  the  chairs  as 
they  were  overturned  was  like  the  dropping 
rattle  of  musketry  fire. 

The  hard  voice  of  the  brawler  had  gone  up 
a  full  tone.  In  its  excitement,  it  dominated 
an  abominable  chorus  of  shouting. 

In  half  a  minute,  the  doctor  and  other  mem- 
bers of  the  congregation  had  Hamlyn  and  his 
son  gripped  by  the  arms  and  were  hurrying 
them  towards  the  west  door  without  any 
answer  to  their  frantic  threats  and  menaces. 
The  other  two  men  followed  stolidly. 

Nearly  every  face  was  turned  away  from 
the  altar. 

The  one  or  two  people  who  had  fallen 
trembling  upon  their  knees  when  the  riot 
was  at  its  height  saw  that  the  vicar  was 
also  kneeling  in  adoration  of  the  Blessed 
Sacrament. 

A  loud  metallic  clang  resounded  through  the 


1 8  A  Lost  Cause 

church.  The  door  was  barred,  the  brawlers 
were  shut  out. 

When  the  maimed,  polluted  rite  was  at  last 
concluded,  amid  deep  sobs  from  men  and 
women  alike,  Father  Blantyre  gave  the  bless- 
ing. .  They  saw  with  deep  sympathy  that  the 
tears  were  rolling  down  his  cheeks  also. 

But  the  doctor  saw,  with  a  sudden  quicken- 
ing of  the  pulses,  that  the  first  finger  and  the 
thumb  were  joined  still.  It  is  the  custom  of 
the  priest,  after  he  has  broken  the  bread,  that 
the  finger  and  thumb  are  never  parted  till 
Mass  is  said. 

They  were  not  parted  now. 

The  fact  comforted  and  cheered  the  doctor. 
He  had  been  on  battle-fields  and  had  not 
known  the  fear  and  horror  he  had  known 
to-day. 


CHAPTER  II 

MR.    HAMLYN   AND    SON    AT   HOME 

MR.  HAMLYN  lived  in  Alexandra  Road, 
Hornham.  The  actual  name  of  his 
house  was  "Balmoral,"  and  it  was  one  of 
seven  or  eight  other  residences  gathered  to- 
gether under  the  generic  title  of  "Beatrice 
Villas." 

The  father  and  son  turned  into  the  little 
path  which  led  up  to  the  imitation  satin- 
wood  door  some  twenty  minutes  after  the 
gate  of  St.  Elwyn's  had  been  barred  to  them. 
Their  companions,  Mr.  Burgoyne  and  Mr. 
Moffat,  had  left  them  at  the  corner  of  the 
street,  very  flustered  at  what  they  had  done, 
and  with  a  dull  remorse  flitting  about  their 
thick  skulls,  that  they  had  joined  in ' '  Hamlyn's 
little  game."  Nor  did  the  repeated  assur- 
ances of  the  journalist,  that  Mr.  Herbert — the 
Liberal  candidate — would  "see  them  through 
it,  "  help  them  to  recover  their  peace  of  mind. 
Visions  of  police-court  proceedings  and  an 
unenviable  notoriety  in  the  daily  papers  were 

19 


20  A  Lost  Cause 

very  vivid,  and  they  parted  with  their  chief 
in  mingled  sorrow  and  anger. 

Mr.  Hamlyn  let  himself  and  his  son  into 
the  little  hall  of  his  villa.  A  smell  of  roast 
meat  gave  evidence  that  dinner  would  soon 
be  ready.  Both  men  turned  into  the  par- 
lour on  the  left  of  the  passage.  It  was  a 
room  which  showed  signs  of  fugitive  rather 
than  regular  use.  Two  or  three  long  boxes 
bearing  the  name  of  a  local  draper  stood 
upon  the  round  table  in  the  centre.  The 
contents  showed  that  Miss  Hamlyn,  the  agi- 
tator's only  daughter,  had  been  occupied  in 
the  choice  of  corsets. 

The  walls  of  the  parlour  were  covered  with 
a  rich  mauve  and  gold  paper,  which  gave  a 
dignity  to  the  cut-glass  lustres  of  the  chan- 
delier. The  pictures,  heavily  framed  in  gold, 
were  spirited  representations  of  scenes  from 
the  Old  Testament.  On  the  rack  of  the  rose- 
wood piano — which  stood  open — was  a  song 
called  "  Roses  that  Bloomed  in  my  Heart." 

The  chairs,  arranged  around  the  wall  with 
commendable  regularity,  were  upholstered  in 
plum-coloured  plush.  On  one  of  them  was  a 
card-box  of  a  vivid  green,  containing  several 
clean  collars  of  the  particular  sort  Hamlyn 
Junior  wore;  on  another  stood  the  wooden 


Mr.  Hamlyn  and  Son  at  Home     21 

box  where  his  father's  silk  hat  was  kept  when 
not  in  use  on  Sundays  and  other  important 
days. 

Mr.  Hamlyn  took  off  his  frock  coat  and  re- 
moved the  reversible  cuffs  that  were  attached 
to  the  sleeves  of  his  flannel  shirt  by  means  of 
an  ingeniously  contrived  clip.  He  then  put 
on  a  loose  coat  of  black  alpaca.  His  son, 
having  gone  through  something  of  the  same 
process,  followed  his  father  to  the  sitting- 
room  next  the  little  kitchen. 

As  the  parlour  was  not  often  used  for 
ceremonial  occasions,  the  Hamlyns  not  being 
very  hospitable  people,  it  served  as  an  occa- 
sional dressing-room  also,  and  saved  running 
up-stairs. 

The  sitting-room  window  looked  out  into 
the  backyard,  immediately  by  the  kitchen 
door,  which  led  into  it.  As  the  Hamlyns 
came  in,  they  were  able  to  see  their  servant 
throwing  some  hot  liquid — the  water  in  which 
the  cabbage  had  been  boiled,  as  a  matter  of 
fact — into  the  grid  in  the  centre  of  the  yard. 

The  table  was  already  laid  for  the  meal. 
As,  however,  it  was  rather  a  long  table  and 
the  Hamlyns  were  only  three  in  family, — 
Hamlyn  being  a  widower, — the  white  cloth 
was  laid  only  on  half  of  it.  One  or  two 


22  A  Lost  Cause 

volumes  of  the  Heartease  Novelettes  and 
some  artificial  flowers,  with  which  a  hat  was 
to  be  trimmed  by  Miss  Hamlyn,  were  thus  left 
undisturbed. 

"Dinner  didn't  ought  to  be  long,"  Mr. 
Hamlyn  remarked. 

"'Ope  not,"  said  his  son  shortly.  "I'll 
holler  to  Maud." 

Miss  Hamlyn  came  in  soon  afterwards,  fol- 
lowed by  the  maid  with  a  joint  of  roast  beef. 
The  editor's  daughter  was  a  tall  girl  with 
sulky  lips,  bold  eyes,  and  a  profusion  of  dark 
hair.  This  last  was  now  screwed  round  her 
forehead  in  curling-pins. 

The  two  men  attacked  their  dinner  in  si- 
lence. Both  of  them  had  tucked  a  handker- 
chief round  their  necks,  in  order  to  preserve 
the  Sunday  waistcoat  from  droppings  of  food, 
a  somewhat  wise  precaution,  as  both  of  them 
ate  very  rapidly. 

"Maud,"  said  Hamlyn  at  length,  "can  you 
do  a  bit  of  typing  for  me  this  afternoon?" 

"No,  then,  I  can't,  Pa,"  she  replied  resent- 
fttlly,  "and  it's  like  you  to  ask  it.  On  the 
Sabbath,  too!  I'm  going  out  with  Gussie 
Davies  for  a  walk." 

"Touch  the  'arp  lightly,  my  dear,"  he  re- 
plied, "no  need  to  get  your  feathers  up." 


Mr.  Hamlyn  and  Son  at  Home     23 

"Well,  Pa,"  she  answered,  "I'm  sure  I'm 
ready  to  spank  the  beastly  machine  for  you 
all  the  week,  you  know  I  am.  But  Sundays 
is  different." 

Hamlyn  made  no  reply.  Both  he  and  his 
son  were  thinking  deeply,  and  as  yet  no  refer- 
ence had  escaped  them  as  to  the  doings  of  the 
morning.  Although  the  girl  knew  there  was 
something  special  afoot,  she  was  not  much  in- 
terested in  the  details,  being  at  all  times  a 
person  much  occupied  with  her  own  affairs. 

During  the  pudding,  she  had  a  short  and 
slangy  conversation  with  her  brother,  and 
directly  the  meal  was  over  she  went  up-stairs 
to  "dress." 

The  servant  removed  the  plates  and  dishes, 
and  Hamlyn  and  his  son  sat  down  at  the 
table.  The  father  drew  a  large  portfolio  of 
papers  towards  him.  The  son  lighted  a  cheap 
cigarette. 

Both  of  the  Hamlyns  spoke  fairly  correctly 
in  public,  though  with  the  usual  cockney 
twang.  In  the  seclusion  of  Balmoral,  neither 
of  them  thought  it  necessary  to  be  very  par- 
ticular about  the  aspirates  which  they  em- 
phasised so  carefully  elsewhere. 

"When  will  Mr.  Herbert  pay  up?"  said 
Sam. 


24  A  Lost  Cause 

"To-morrow.  I  shall  see  him  in  the  com- 
mittee room  during  the  afternoon,  and  it's 
five  and  twenty  pound  earned  as  easy  as  I 
ever  earned  anything  in  my  life.  It'll  come 
in  very  'andy  too.  There's  the  rent  on  the 
linotype  machine  just  due." 

"The  money's  all  right,"  answered  the 
younger  man,  "and,  of  course,  we're  guaran- 
teed against  fines  and  anything  of  that  sort. 
But  do  you  think  the  game 's  worth  the  can- 
dle? How  will  opinion  in  the  parish  go?" 

"Like  a  house  on  fire.  Wait  till  you  see 
my  leader  in  Wednesday's  issue.  Mr.  Her- 
bert has  put  me  up  to  the  whole  thing.  We  're 
carrying  out  a  patriotic  Henglish  duty.  Pub- 
lic sympathy  will  all  be  with  us.  Rome  is 
creeping  in  among  us  !" 

Sam  grinned.  "Well,  you  know  best, 
Father,  of  course.  And  we  're  bound  to  sup- 
port Mr.  Herbert." 

"I've  been  thinking  a  great  deal,"  Hamlyn 
answered  slowly.  "I've  always  been  an  am- 
bitious man  and  I've  always  meant  to  come 
out  on  top  somehow  or  other.  But  I've 
never  had  a  big  chance  yet.  I  think, — I'm 
not  sure, — but  I  think  I  see  that  chance 
waiting  now." 

His  shrewd  face  was  lighted  up  with  a  curi- 


Mr.  Hamlyn  and  Son  at  Home     25 

ous  excitement.  The  eyes  glowed  and  the 
impudent  merriment  on  the  lips  became  more 
pronounced  than  before. 

"What  is  it  then?" 

"Listen  quietly  to  me  for  a  few  minutes. 
The  idea  came  gradual  to  me.  I  got  on  the 
track  six  months  ago.  First  of  all,  it  was  the 
ten  gross  of  religious  books  I  had  down  in 
the  shop.  They  were  of  all  sorts.  Which  was 
the  one  that  went  best?  Why,  it  was  The 
Adventures  of  Susan  Le fever,  the  Captive  Nun. 
I  sold  'em  all  out  in  no  time.  The  next  best 
seller  was  The  Revelations  of  Pastor  Coucher- 
rousset,  the  Converted  Catholic  Priest.  Any- 
thing against  Rome!  Mr.  Leatherbarrow,  of 
the  New  Connection  Methodists,  preached 
three  times  on  those  books.  He  had  all  the 
congregation  fair  shaking  with  indignation 
against  the  Scarlet  Woman.  You  see  it 's  like 
this.  People  want  a  cock-shy.  They  don't 
much  care  about  what  it  is,  as  long  as  they  've 
got  it — see  the  way  they're  down  on  the 
Sheenies  in  France.  Now  a  religious  cock- 
shy is  the  best  of  all.  It  gives  people  a  feel- 
ing that  they  're  in  real  earnest,  and  they  can 
kid  themselves  and  other  people  that  it's 
more  disinterested  than  politics,  for  instance. 
They '  ve  nothing  to  get  by  it — except  the  fun 


26  A  Lost  Cause 

of  doing  it— and  that  flatters  'em  because 
they  're  always  on  the  grab  in  every  other  way. 
See?" 

Sam  nodded.  He  was  not  one  of  those 
youths  who  despise  the  words  of  parental  wis- 
dom. He  was  not  himself  a  fool,  and  so  he 
did  not  fall  into  the  mistake  of  underrating 
his  father's  capacity  and  knowledge  of  life. 
The  small  and  vulgar  triumphs  of  Hamlyn's 
career  were  all  appreciated  and  noted  by  his 
son,  who  had  a  sincere  respect  for  him. 

"Very  well,  then,"  Hamlyn  continued. 
"  It 's  a  sure  draw,  all  over  England,  to  raise  the 
anti-popery  cry.  The  wholesale  trade  tell  me 
that  the  business  done  in  Fox's  Book  of  Mar- 
tyrs is  a  perfect  knock-out  year  by  year,  and 
there 's  a  sure  sale  for  the  smaller  books  about 
the  priests  larking  with  the  girls  in  the  con- 
fessional and  so  forth.  Anything  with  '  Se- 
cret History'  or  'Jesuit'  on  the  title-page '11 
sell  like  the  Evening  News  on  Derby  Day. 
Now,  I  've  been  reading  all  the  publications  of 
the  regular  Protestant  societies  during  the 
last  few  weeks.  Plenty  of  cuts  at  the  Ritual- 
ists, lots  of  little  sixpennies  bound  in  cloth  to 
prove  as  there  is  n't  no  such  thing  as  apos- 
tolic succession,  that  wafers  is  illegal,  and  the 
Eastern  position  rather  worse  than  arson. 


Mr.  Hamlyn  and  Son  at  Home     27 

They  're  all  very  well  in  their  way,  but  they  're 
written  by  D.D.'s  and  M.A.'s  and  such  like, 
who  don't  care  to  go  too  far.  I  have  a  list  in 
my  portfolio  here  of  the  regular  Protestant 
writers — nearly  all  class,  my  boy.  Listen 
here: 

"  Transubstantiation  and  the  Invocation  of 
Saints.  Rev.  J.  Cummer,  Canon  Residen- 
tiary of  Ironpool. 

"Popery  the  Work  of  'the  Adversary,' — the 
Roman  Clergy  under  Satanic  Influence.  Rev. 
R.  S.  Blanken,  LL.D.,  incumbent  of  Christ 
Church,  Oxton. 

"Ritualism  in  the  English  Church:  A  Word 
of  Warning.  Rev.  Joshua  Cafe,  D.D.,  pre- 
bendary of  Bath  and  Wells. 

' '  There 's  dozens  of  others  like  this.  They  're 
all  very  well  in  their  way,  but  they  don't 
strike  the  really  popular  note.  They've 
broken  the  ground  and  sowed  the  seed,  but 
they're  not  going  to  reap  the  harvest." 

"Who  is,  then,  Father?  And  what  '11  it 
be  worth  when  it  is  reaped?" 

"Us,  my  boy.  As  to  the  worth  of  it,  go 
on  listening  to  me  and  you  '11  see  things  gradu- 
ally getting  clearer.  I  want  you  to  see  how 
I've  worked  it  all  out.  If  we  do  strike  oil, 
all  'I'm  telling  you  now  will  be  valuable. 


28  A  Lost  Cause 

During  my  local  work  for  the  Protestant 
cause  down  here,  I  've  been  brought  in  touch 
with  members  of  the  old-established  socie- 
ties and  I've  taken  the  length  of  their  foot. 
They're  too  dignified  altogether.  Real  live 
methods  don't  appeal  to  them.  Financially 
they  don't  do  badly,  but  nothing  like  what 
they  might  do  if  they  adopted  the  right 
methods.  All  their  subscriptions  come  from 
the  upper  classes,  and  there's  a  whole  gold- 
mine lying  at  their  doors  which  is  quite  un- 
touched! dbso-lute-ly  un worked,  Sam!  The 
middle  classes  and  the  lower  classes  have  n't 
begun  to  give  to  the  Protestant  cause.  Why  ? 
Because  it  has  n't  been  put  prominently  be- 
fore them  in  the  way  they'll  understand. 
Bang  the  field-piece!  twang  the  lyre!  thump 
the  tub!  rattle  the  tambourine!  That's  the 
way.  Look  at  the  Salvation  Army!  The 
time  is  ripe  for  new  methods  and  for  a  new 
man  who  isn't  a  canon  residentiary  or  a  D.D. 
I  've  got  all  the  ritualistic  statistics.  Day  by 
day  the  Ritualists  are  trying  it  on,  getting 
nearer  and  nearer  to  Rome.  Everything  is 
ready." 

"  I  see  all  that,  Father.  All  you  say  is  clear 
enough.  What  I  don't  see  yet  is  what  you 
mean  to  do." 


Mr.  Hamlyn  and  Son  at  Home     29 

"I'm  coming  to  that.  For  several  years 
now,  I  Ve  been  prominent  in  Hornham  affairs. 
I'm  known  as  a  platform  speaker  in  all  the 
denominations.  What  do  you  suppose  I  did 
this  for  six  months  ago?"  he  touched  the 
lapel  of  his  coat,  looking  down  on  it  as  he  did 
so. 

"Oh!"  he  said,  "I  forgot  I'd  changed  into 
my  old  jacket.  I  was  alluding  to  the  temper- 
ance non-smoking  ribbon.  It's  in  my  frock- 
coat.  Well,  I  mentioned  it  just  to  point  out 
that  I  'm  known  as  a  man  associated  with  all 
good  causes." 

"But  only  locally,  Pa." 

' '  Exactly.  That  is  all  I  need  to  start  with. 
Now,  to-day  I  began :  '  Mr.  Hamlyn,  a  promi- 
nent resident  in  Hornham  and  a  staunch  sup- 
porter of  the  Henglish  Protestant  Church,  has 
at  last  felt  it  his  duty  to  protest  against  the 
illegal  practices  at  St.  Elwyn's  in  as  public  a 
manner  as  possible.'  I  Ve  struck  a  new  note, 
see  ?  What  I  've  done  to-day  has  hardly  ever 
been  done  before.  Now,  why  should  n't  this 
inaugurate  a  big  public  movement  all  over 
the  country  ?  Why  should  n't  offices  be  taken 
in  the  Strand  and  a  new  League  started, 
' Hamlyn 's  Protestant  Crusade'  or  something 
of  that  sort?  To  begin  with,  subscriptions  are 


30  A  Lost  Cause 

invited  for  the  circulation  of  real  fighting 
Protestant  literature,  hot  stuff,  giving  ac- 
counts of  the  illegal  and  Romish  doings  all 
over  the  country.  I  know  where  to  get  the 
pamphlets  written  for  a  mere  song,  and 
startlers,  too.  Of  course,  we  have  all  the 
printing  done  at  the  works  here  in  Hornham, 
— that'll  be  worth  something  considerable. 
Meanwhile,  mark  what  happens.  The  'silly 
season '  comes  on  and  the  newspapers  have  n't 
got  much  to  write  about.  Our  little  London 
concern  is  established  and  then  we  begin 
touring  round  to  all  the  Ritualistic  churches 
and  protesting  against  their  aims.  If  I  know 
what  I'm  talking  about,  in  a  fortnight  or 
three  weeks  one  of  the  biggest  booms  of  the 
century  will  begin!  Everything  we  do  will 
be  in  the  papers,  rows  in  the  churches,  police- 
court  proceedings — everything.  Whenever  I 
write  a  letter  of  protest  to  the  Bishop  of  Lon- 
don or  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  it  will 
appear  in  all  the  papers.  It  don't  matter 
what  they  say  as  long  as  they  mention  the 
Crusade !  Then  '11  come  the  moment  when  we 
really  launch  out  and  become  a  national  In- 
stitution. We  '11  get  half  a  dozen  parsons  and 
fifth-rate  M.  P.'s  to  form  a  committee,  and 
some  one  to  be  a  treasurer:  he's  easy  found. 


Mr.  Hamlyn  and  Son  at  Home     31 

Then  I  become  secretary  and  you  assistant- 
secretary:  we  are  salaried  officials,  of  course, 
and  we  start  a  little  magazine  as  the  Society's 
official  organ — to  be  printed  at  the  works. 
I  Ve  many  more  ideas  for  the  extension  of  the 
plan, — brilliant  ideas  some  of  them,  too.  But 
I  won't  go  into  them  now.  I've  only  given 
you  the  roughest  outline  of  the  scheme  as  yet. 
Meanwhile,  as  a  preliminary,  I'm  going  to 
flimsy  out  a  dozen  short  reports  of  to-day's 
proceedings  at  St.  Elwyn's,  and  I  want  you 
to  run  up  to  Fleet  Street  with  them,  about 
five  this  evening.  All  the  dailies  will  print 
it." 

He  chuckled.  "That's  the  chief  beauty  of 
the  scheme,"  he  continued;  "you  get  the 
majority  of  your  advertisements  free,  and  in 
the  best  papers,  too!  It's  about  the  only 
scheme  I  ever  heard  of  that  could." 

He  stopped  at  last  and^  sank  back  in  his 
chair,  exhausted.  He  had  spoken  long  and 
with  great  animation,  with  all  the  tricks  and 
mannerisms  of  rough-and-tumble  platform 
oratory,  in  which  he  was  a  master.  The  pan- 
tomime of  his  expressive  gestures,  the  inde- 
scribable impudence  of  the  smile  as  he  sought 
to  prove  some  depth  of  folly  in  the  public,  the 
quick  inflections  of  the  voice,  gave  great  force 


32  A  Lost  Cause 

to  his  words.  They  sounded  convincing  to 
the  younger  Hamlyn,  into  whose  muddy 
pallor  a  deep  red  flush  had  gradually  come. 

"It's  a  big  thing,  Pa,"  he  said  at  length,  "a 
very  big  thing.  I  see  that,  and  you're  the 
one  to  make  it  go.  But  there 's  a  lot  to  be 
done  first.  'Ave  we  the  ready  money  to 
start  it  ?  Even  in  a  small  way,  to  get  it  once 
before  the  public  will  cost  four  or  five  hund- 
dred  pounds." 

"That's  the  difficulty,  Sam,  I  admit  it. 
We  are  pretty  low  down  at  present.  The 
business  just  keeps  its  head  above  water, 
that 's  all.  The  money  from  Mr.  Herbert  is  a 
help,  but  it 's  all  gone  as  soon  as  we  get  it.  I 
was  thinking  that  if  to-day's  little  protest 
makes  a  stir  and  we  can  do  ditto  round-abouts 
during  the  next  week  or  two,  we  could  get 
Moffat  and  Burgoyne  to  advance  a  hundred 
each,  p'r'aps.  As  a  personal  loan.  Mr.  Her- 
bert would  be  good  for  fifty  now,  but  as  soon 
as  he 's  elected  you  '11  see  he  won't  bother  any 
more.  When  we've  made  the  whole  thing 
hum,  he'll  come  to  us  and  offer  to  be  our 
Parliamentary  representative.  I  'm  reserving 
him  for  that.  He'll  be  useful  to  ask  ques- 
tions and  help  the  fizz-up  generally.  It  '11  suit 
him  because  he  11  have  a  chance  of  getting 


Mr.  Hamlyn  and  Son  at  Home     33 

his  name  in  the  papers,  and  it's  about  the 
only  chance  he  will  have  of  getting  prominent 
in  the  House.  But,  as  far  as  the  preliminary 
stages  are  concerned,  my  opinion  is  that  he 's 
N.  G.  The  worst  of  it  is  that  with  a  scheme 
of  this  sort  one  can't  very  well  put  it  on  the 
market.  That's  the  one  drawback  of  a  re- 
ligious scheme.  There's  lots  of  men  who'd 
see  the  money  in  it,  but  who'd  see  that  if 
they  joined  they  could  n't  touch  a  cent. 
There  can't  be  more  than  one  or  two  salaried 
officials.  No,  we  must  depend  upon  our- 
selves entirely.  I'm  not  afraid.  It's  what 
Napoleon  did,  and  I'm  going  to  be  the  Pro- 
testant Napoleon!  There's  a  lot  in  catch- 
words— speaking  on  a  side  issue — '  The  Luther 
League!'  'Smithfield  Soldiers!'  or  Bunyan's 
'Holy  War'  might  be  revived." 

"No,  Pa,  that  wouldn't  do  now.  'Holy* 
is  a  regular  Ritualistic  word." 

"Well,  so  it  is,  Sam.  I  had  n't  thought  of 
it.  I'm  glad  to  see  that  you've  got  a  good 
grip  of  the  thing." 

There  was  a  silence  in  the  mean  little  room. 
In  the  adjacent  kitchen,  the  servant  could  be 
heard  singing,  "Ower  lod  geris  anoice  yeng 
men,  ow  dear,  ow  dear  naow! "  A  big  green- 
bellied  fly  sung  and  drummed  on  the  window- 


34  A  Lost  Cause 

pane  in  the  afternoon  sunlight.  Hamlyn, 
replete  with  enthusiasm  and  beef,  had  taken 
off  his  alpaca  coat  and  unloosed  his  collar. 
The  air  was  heavy  with  the  odour  of  food  and 
the  acrid  smell  of  Sam's  "  ten-f or-threepence  " 
cigarettes,  while  a  penetrating  smell  of  new 
calico,  proceeding  from  some  of  Maud's  dress- 
making operations,  dominated  it  all. 

A  church  bell,  ringing  for  afternoon  service, 
was  heard  not  far  away. 

Suddenly  Hamlyn  struck  the  table  a  sound- 
ing blow  with  his  fist. 

"It  is  a  good  thing,"  he  shouted  in  a  wild 
burst  of  enthusiasm. 

The  voice  was  so  full,  and  confident,  that  it 
rang  out  in  the  place  like  a  trumpet. 

It  had  the  true  accent  of  an  enthusiast,  of  a 
leader.  There  was  mesmerism  in  it.  Hear- 
ing it,  one  would  have  said  that  this  man 
would  succeed. 

He  could  influence  others,  he  had  energy, 
resource,  and  temperamental  force.  It  was 
true.  The  man  was  gifted.  He  had  power, 
and  to  whatever  end  that  might  be  directed 
it  would  not  lose  its  efficacy.  The  conviction 
of  success,  its  trumpet  note,  was  to  become 
familiar  in  vast  hysterical  assemblies.  It  was 
to  be  mistaken  for  a  deep  and  earnest  wish 


Mr.  Hamlyn  and  Son  at  Home     35 

to  purify  the  Church,  to  scatter  the  wolves 
from  the  environs  of  the  fold.  Greed  can  be 
sonorous.  Tartuffe  can  always  find  his  Orgon, 
and  to  hawk  a  battle-cry  among  the  ignorant 
and  dull  has  ever  been  a  profitable  game. 

"I've  a  word  to  say,  Pa,"  the  son  echoed; 
"I've  an  idea  where  the  first  cash  is  to  come 
from." 

"Good,  my  boy.     Let's  have  it." 

"What  about  Miss  Pritchett?" 

Hamlyn  looked  reproachfully  at  his  son. 
"What  about  the  monument!"  he  answered 
with  a  sneer.  "She's  got  the  cash,  she's  got 
tons  of  it.  But  she 's  a  red-hot  Ritualist  and 
Romaniser.  Ask  me  another,  Sam." 

Samuel  smiled  slyly.  "Wait  a  mo,  Pa," 
he  said.  "I  know  a  good  deal  more  about 
Miss  Pritchett  than  you  do.  I  Ve  been  walkin' 
out  with  Augusta  Davis  lately.  She's  a 
friend  of  Maud's." 

"The  companion,  you  mean  ?  Miss  Pritch- 
ett's  companion?  Oh,  you've  been  smelling 
round  in  that  quarter,  have  you?" 

"And  I've  learnt  a  bit.  I  know  all  that 
goes  on.  Gussie  tells  me  and  Maud  every- 
thing. Miss  Pritchett  's  getting  tired  of  St. 
Elwyn's.  She  can't  boss  the  new  vicar  like 
she  used  the  old  one.  As  for  the  Roman 


36  A  Lost  Cause 

business,  she  does  n't  really  care  for  it.  She 's 
nothing  to  amuse  herself  with  except  that  and 
her  ailments.  It's  the  old  cat's  vanity,  that 's 
all.  She  likes  to  be  a  patroness." 

"That's  the  sort  of  woman  we  want,"  an- 
swered Mr.  Hamlyn,  obviously  struck  by  the 
the  word.  "There  are  a  lot  of  rich,  single 
old  judies  only  fit  to  be  patronesses.  They  're 
cut  out  for  it.  Do  you  really  think  anything 
could  be  done." 

"  I  do  most  certainly,  Pa.  I  'appen  to  know 
that  Miss  Pritchett  is  getting  on  very  bad 
terms  with  Blantyre.  He  won't  stand  her  med- 
dling. I  've  one  or  two  ideas  in  my  head  to 
help  it  along.  Gussie  '11  do  anything  I  tell  her. ' ' 

"Well,  Sam,  you  do  all  you  can.  We  won't 
talk  about  the  matter  any  more  now.  I've 
got  a  lot  of  strings  to  pull,  and  I  've  got  a  lot 
of  matters  in  my  mind.  We  shall  get  a 
summons  for  brawling  to-morrow,  I  expect. 
I'm  done  up  now,  and  I'm  going  to  have  a 
nap.  Wake  me  up  in  an  hour  if  I  'm  asleep, 
and  I'll  get  out  the  flimsies  for  to-morrow's 
papers." 

Hamlyn  possessed  that  faculty  of  sleeping 
at  any  moment,  and  of  waking  when  it  suited 
him,  that  so  often  goes  with  any  marked 
executive  capacity. 


Mr.  Hamlyn  and  Son  at  Home     37 

He  stretched  himself  upon  the  little  horse- 
hair sofa  and  covered  his  face  with  his 
handkerchief. 

Samuel  picked  up  one  of  the  "Heartsease" 
novelettes  and  tried  to  read  in  it.  But  his 
brain  was  alight  with  the  splendour  of  the 
new  project,  and  he  could  not  concentrate  his 
thought  upon  Joyce  Heathcote's  Lover. 

It  was  thus  that  the  seeds  of  the  new 
movement  were  sown,  in  the  back  parlour  at 
Balmoral,  Beatrice  Villas,  Alexandra  Road. 
Historians  tell  us  that  even  greater  and  more 
epoch-making  movements  than  Mr.  Ham- 
lyn's  was  destined  to  be,  have  originated  in 
even  less  pretentious  dwellings. 

Many  of  us  have  seen  the  little  house  in  the 
Brede  Kirk  Street  of  the  old  Dutch  town,  on 
which  is  written,  Hcsc  est  parva  domus  natus 
qua  magnus  Erasmus. 

Mr.  Hamlyn,  Junior,  had  never  heard  of 
Erasmus,  but  he  saw  visions  of  greatness  on 
that  afternoon. 


CHAPTER  III 

LORD    HUDDERSFIELD    AND    THE    GUESTS    AT 
SCARNING    COURT 

FROM  April  until  the  beginning  of  August, 
Lord  Huddersfield  generally  lived  at  his 
house  at  Scarning,  the  famous  old  Tudor  man- 
sion on  the  river,  below  Pangbourne. 

Peers  who  are  something  more  than  merely 
"in  society"  are  generally  known  to  the  pub- 
lic at  large  by  reason  of  some  cause  which 
they  benefit,  defend,  or  are  associated  with. 
When  it  is  not  a  cause,  it  is  a  business  that 
gives  such  an  one  his  label  for  the  man  in  the 
street. 

Lord  So-and-so  is,  of  course,  the  great 
banker  or  brewer;  Lord  This  is  the  famous 
picture  collector,  who  has  all  the  Holbeins; 
Lord  That  is  known  to  be  the  best  amateur 
actor,  billiard  player,  or  breeder  of  blood- 
hounds in  England.  In  an  age  when  all 
celebrities  are  easily  distinguished  thus,  Lord 
Huddersfield,  was  perfectly  familiar  to  every- 
one as  the  great  organising  churchman.  The 

38 


At  Seaming  Court  39 

ordinary  person  would  say,  "Lord  Hudders- 
field  ?  Oh,  yes,  the  great  Ritualistic  Johnny," 
imagining  that  he  had  summed  up  his 
man  with  completeness.  Yet,  saving  only  to 
churchmen  and  their  antagonists — a  very 
small  proportion  of  the  public  to-day — Lord 
Huddersfield  was  personally  quite  unknown. 
He  was  hardly  ever  caricatured  in  the  comic 
papers  or  pictured  in  the  more  serious  il- 
lustrated journals.  His  face  was  wholly  un- 
familiar; the  details  of  his  private  life  formed 
no  portion  of  the  gossip  papers.  To  the  vast 
army  of  English  folk,  who  are  utterly  indiffer- 
ent to  religious  questions,  he  was  nothing 
more  than  a  name. 

He  had  only  once  excited  a  really  general 
flicker  of  interest.  On  the  occasion  of  a  visit 
to  Italy,  like  many  other  distinguished  visit- 
ors to  the  capital,  he  had  been  received  in 
audience  by  the  Bishop  of  Rome.  As  usual, 
the  evening  papers  had  published  "rumours." 
"LORD  HUDDERSFIELD  AND  THE  POPE. 

WlLL  HE  BECOME  A  CATHOLIC?" 
had  appeared  as  a  scare  head-line  in  one 
enterprising  sheet,  and  .the  peer's  telegram, 
stating  that  he  had  been  one  for  many  years 
had  been  hastily  printed  as  a  startling  reve- 
lation— until  some  charitable  person  had 


40  A  Lost  Cause 

stepped  round  to  the  office  and  explained  the 
joke  to  a  bewildered  Scotch  editor,  and  the 
paragraph  was  excised  from  later  editions. 

This  much  for  the  figure  he  cut  to  the  out- 
side world.  In  the  English  Church,  he  was 
looked  upon  as  one  of  the  leading  laymen,  if 
not  the  chief  of  all  of  them.  He  was  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  great  weekly  paper  known  as 
the  Church  Standard.  He  was  the  chairman 
of  many  church  societies,  the  friend  and  pa- 
tron of  all  Anglican  movements  and  institu- 
tions, and  a  man  whose  word  carried  enormous 
weight  and  power. 

In  private  life,  his  two  children  and  his  in- 
timate friends  found  him  true,  devout,  dili- 
gent, winning  all  hearts  by  opening  his  own, 
where  one  found  a  singular  freshness  and 
simplicity.  He  went  as  little  into  general 
society  as  he  could,  for  all  his  thoughts  and 
aims  were  occupied  in  one  endeavour. 

On  the  Monday  after  the  events  in  Horn- 
ham,  Agatha  Poyntz  and  her  brother  James 
were  in  the  lovely  private  backwater  of 
Seaming.  Their  punt  was  moored  to  the  side 
of  a  tiny  island,  set  like  a  gem  in  the  clear 
brown  water,  the  red  silk  cushions  of  the  boat 
making  a  vivid  splash  of  colour  on  the  bank. 
With  these  two  was  Miss  Poyntz's  great  friend 


At  Seaming  Court  41 

and  confidante,  Lucy  Blantyre,  the  only  sister 
of  the  vicar  of  St.  Elwyn's. 

Lucy  was  a  girl  of  meduim  height,  not  at  all 
the  willowy  modern  heroine  of  pictures  and 
romance.  Her  hair  was  of  a  deep,  dead  black, 
coiled  on  a  small  Greek  head.  Her  com- 
plexion was  dark,  like  that  of  her  brother,  the 
priest,  but  quite  without  a  certain  sallowness 
that  was  noticeable  in  him.  It  had  the  dusky 
paleness,  the  pearl-like  morbidezza  of  some 
southern  types,  and,  despite  the  lack  of  colour, 
showed  a  perfect  and  happy  health.  The 
mouth  was  rather  large.  Mockery  lurked 
there,  and  in  the  dark  eyes  a  lambent  and 
somewhat  scornful  humour  was  wont  to  play. 

Agatha  Poyntz  was  a  tall  and  merry  girl — 
"a  nut-brown  maid"  her  father  called  her. 
Her  round,  plump  face  showed  a  sheer  light- 
heartedness  and  joy  in  life  that  was  always 
refreshing  to  people  who  found  this  life  rather 
a  drab  and  ordinary  affair.  The  care-worn 
priests  and  churchmen  who  were  her  father's 
friends,  men  who  were  always  too  painfully 
aware  of  the  great  stream  of  human  tears 
which  is  for  ever  falling  through  the  shadows 
of  the  world,  were  all  fond  of  her  freshness  and 
sparkle.  And,  so  the  wisest  of  them  thought 
that  since  she  took  nothing  seriously,  and  was 


42  A  Lost  Cause 

quite  untouched  by  the  vexing  problems  in 
which  they  were  submerged,  it  was  perhaps  a 
good  thing  that  so  gay  and  bright  a  creature 
should  come  into  their  lives  for  a  space,  realis- 
ing that,  after  all,  God  made  the  butterflies 
which  hovered  so  daintily  over  the  Seaming 
water-flowers  upon  their  painted  fans. 

James  Poyntz,  Lord  Huddersfield's  only 
son,  was  a  very  different  type.  He  resem- 
bled his  dead  mother,  a  daughter  of  the  Duke 
of  St.  Just.  He  was  tall,  slender,  and  muscu- 
lar. His  face  was  clean-shaved,  lean,  and  with 
a  heavy  jaw,  not  the  heaviness  that  signals 
sensuality  and  dulness,  but  purpose  and  reso- 
lution. His  eyes  were  grey,  and  glittered 
when  he  became  animated,  and  his  clear, 
cold  voice  grew  emphatic. 

Not  long  before,  he  had  come  down  from  Ox- 
ford, where  he  had  distinguished  himself  in  the 
history  schools,  and  also  by  availing  himself 
of  the  little-used  permission  to  absent  him- 
self from  chapel  and  the  examination  known 
as  "Divinity  Moderations,"  granted  to  men 
who  have  come  of  age,  and  who  sign  a  declara- 
tion of  their  absolute  and  sincere  disbelief  in 
the  supernatural.  It  had  been  a  piquant 
spectacle  to  the  sceptic  undergraduates  and 
younger  dons,  to  see  the  son  and  heir  of  Lord 


At  Seaming  Court  43 

Huddersfield  openly  scornful  and  protesting 
against  all  that  his  father  held  so  dear,  and 
quietly  taking  the  much  severer  tests  that  the 
University  statutes  impose  upon  those  who 
would  dispense  with  the  puerile  divinity 
examination. 

James  Poyntz  was  on  rather  bad  terms 
with  his  father.  There  was  no  confidence 
between  them,  and  perhaps  but  little  love — 
though  that  had  never  been  tested.  The 
young  man  had  a  sufficient  fortune  from  his 
mother,  and  his  father  was  prepared  to  sup- 
plement his  income  in  any  way  he  might 
wish,  being  far  too  sensible  and  just  a  man  to 
endeavour  to  make  his  son  suffer  financially 
for  his  opinions.  But  James  Poyntz  refused 
money  which,  as  he  said,  would  have  been 
purely  superfluous  to  him,  and  was  occupied 
in  carving  a  career  for  himself  at  the  common- 
law  bar,  where  he  was  already  a  not  incon- 
spicuous figure  among  the  junior  men. 

His  knowledge  of  ecclesiastical  law  was 
good,  and  in  the  wrangles  between  diocesan 
chancellors  and  recalcitrant  clergy  which  were 
becoming  more  and  more  frequent,  he  was 
frequently  retained.  He  was  a  very  familiar 
figure  in  Dr.  Tristram's  Consistory  Court, 
and  his  familiarity  with  ecclesiastical  litigation 


44  A  Lost  Cause 

only  increased  a  contempt  for  those  who  pro- 
fessed and  called  themselves  Christians,  which 
was  as  profound  as  it  was  sincere,  and  as  fun- 
damentally the  result  of  ignorance  as  it  was 
both. 

For,  brilliant  as  he  was,  the  young  man  had 
not  the  slightest  acquaintance  with  modern 
religious  thought.  He  saw  everything  through 
the  spectacles  of  temperamental  distaste,  and 
still  believed  that  Professor  Huxley  had  dealt 
the  final  blow  to  Christianity  in  1876!  Lord 
Huddersfield  had  often  pressed  his  son  to 
read  the  question  as  it  at  present  stood,  to 
see  what  Gore  and  the  philosophic  apologists 
were  saying,  or  even  to  note  the  cautious  but 
inevitable  conclusions  that  prominent  scien- 
tists like  Lord  Kelvin  and  Sir  Oliver  Lodge 
were  arriving  at.  But  the  young  man  always 
refused.  The  ancient  indictment  of  the  Gada- 
rene  swine  represented  the  last  word  in  the 
controversy  for  him,  and  a  brain  keen  and 
finely  furnished  with  facts  on  all  other  ques- 
tions, on  this  was  not  only  content  to  be  forty 
years  behind  the  conclusions  of  theological 
science,  but  imagined  that  it  was  in  the  van  of 
contemporary  thought. 

Of  late,  Lord  Huddersfield  had  given  up 
the  attempt  to  influence  his  son's  opinions. 


At  Seaming  Court  45 

"It  is  impossible,"  he  had  said,  "to  explain 
that  the  sky  is  blue  to  a  man  who  has  blind- 
folded himself  all  his  life,  and  one  cannot 
build  a  basis  in  a  vacuum."  So,  while  both 
men  respected  each  other's  attainments  on 
all  subjects  but  religious  ones,  on  these  James 
thought  his  father  a  fool,  and  Lord  Hudders- 
field  knew  that  his  son  was. 

Despite  all  this  difference,  the  younger  man 
was  a  frequent  and  welcome  visitor  at  his 
father's  various  houses,  and  between  him  and 
his  sister  Agatha  there  was  a  real  and  deep 
affection.  Agatha  was  conventionally  indif- 
ferent to  religious  things,  James  was  pro- 
foundly antagonistic  to  them,  and  thus,  if 
they  did  not  meet  quite  on  common  ground, 
they  were  never  likely  to  disagree. 

And  Lucy  Blantyre,  the  third  member  of 
that  gay  young  trio  on  the  summer  morning, 
was  a  combination  of  both  of  them.  She  was 
very  well  off  in  the  affairs  of  this  world,  as 
indeed  was  her  brother,  Bernard  Blantyre  of 
St.  Elwyn's.  But,  while  he  had  early  devoted 
his  life  and  money  to  the  service  of  God, 
Lucy  had  refused  to  identify  herself  with  his 
interests.  She  lived  with  her  aunt,  Lady 
Linquest,  a  gay  old  dame  of  Mayfair,  and  it 
was  only  at  rare  intervals  that  she  paid  a 


46  A  Lost  Cause 

duty  visit  to  her  brother.  Yet,  though  she 
was,  from  a  surface  point  of  view,  purely  a 
society  girl,  popular,  and  happy  in  a  bright 
and  vivid  life,  there  were  temperamental 
depths  in  her,  unsounded  as  yet,  which  showed 
her  sometimes — to  her  own  wonder  and  dis- 
comfort— that  she  was  a  true  blood-sister  to 
the  priest  in  north-east  London.  At  times, 
a  wave  of  scorn  for  the  Church  possessed  her. 
She  saw  the  worst  side  of  religious  externals 
and  poured  bitter  fun  upon  their  anomalies. 
This  is,  of  course,  a  very  easy  thing  to  do. 
Any  one  can  ridicule  the  unseen  and  its 
ministers:  it  requires  no  special  talent  to 
be  rude  to  God!  At  other  times,  the  girl  saw 
this  very  clearly  and  was  ashamed.  She  had 
a  good  brain  and  despised  all  that  was  cheap 
and  vulgar  at  the  bottom;  and  when  her 
moods  of  wilfulness  had  passed,  she  stood 
upon  the  brink  of  devotion  and  belief. 

Nothing  serious  animated  any  of  the  three. 
The  day  was  wonderful.  In  a  sky  like  a 
hard,  hollow  sapphire  the  sun  burned  like  a 
white-hot  disc  of  platinum.  The  island  was 
deliciously  cool;  the  murmur  of  a  near  river 
mingled  with  the  bourdon  of  the  bees.  The 
smooth  turf  on  which  they  lay  was  starred 
with  chaste  and  simple  flowers. 


At  Seaming  Court  47 

"Isn't  it  perfect  to-day!"  Agatha  said. 
"Bee,  go  away  from  my  face!  'Pleasant  it  is 
when  the  woods  are  green  and  the  winds  are 
soft  and  low,  to  lie  amid  some  sylvan  scene' 
— Lucy,  dear,  what  are  you  thinking  about?" 

' '  I  was  wondering  if  we  were  really  reclin- 
ing in  what  the  poets  of  last  century  called 
'bosky  shade.'  Is  this  bosky,  Mr.  Poyntz?" 

"Decidedly  bosky,  I  should  say.  But 
surely  both  of  you  can  put  the  island  to  a 
better  use  than  merely  to  illustrate  quota- 
tions from  the  poets?  It's  far  too  fine  for 
that." 

"Oh,  do  let  me  have  'bosky',"  Lucy  re- 
plied. "It's  such  a  dear,  comic  word.  I've 
always  loved  it.  It  always  seems  a  fat  word 
to  me.  I'm  sure  it's  fat  and  it  waddles — in 
the  word  world!" 

"Then  what  does  Agatha's  'sylvan'  do?" 

"Oh,  sylvan? — well,  I  should  think  it  was 
a  slim,  graceful,  and  very  young-ladyish  kind 
of  word.  It  wears  a  neat  grey  tailor-made 
coat  and  skirt,  and  says,  '  Papa  is  of  opinion 
that,'  or,  'Mamma  has  frequently  told  me. " 

They  all  laughed,  pleased  with  themselves, 
the  hour,  and  the  charm  that  perfectly  absurd 
talk  has  for  young  and  happy  people. 

"Oh,  don't  talk  of  words,  Miss  Blantyre," 


48  A  Lost  Cause 

Poyntz  said,  "I'm  tired  of  them.  The  long 
vacation  draws  near,  when  I  want  to  forget 
all  about  them.  My  words,  the  words  I  live 
by,  or  for,  are  beasts." 

"Quote,  dearest,"  Agatha  said. 

"Well,  this  is  the  sort  of  thing  I  see  more 
often  than  anything  else  at  present,"  he 
replied :  '  The  humble  petition  of  the  vicar 
and  churchwardens  of  St.  Somebody  sheweth 
that,  it  being  considered  desirable  to  make 
certain  alterations  and  improvements  in  the 
church  of  the  said  Parish,  a  meeting  in  Vestry, 
duly  convened  for  considering  the  same,  was 
held  on  the  first  of  June,  at  which  it  was  re- 
solved that  the  alterations  shown  in  the  plan 
annexed  hereto  and  there  produced,  should 
be  carried  out,  a  copy  of  which  resolution  is 
also  hereto  annexed.' ' 

Both  the  girls  cried  out  to  him  to  stop. 

' '  What  musty  words,  dry  and  rusty  words ! ' ' 
Lucy  said.  "And,  please,  what  are  they  all 
about,  and  what  do  they  mean?" 

"They  mean  this — some  worthy  parson  has 
badgered  his  congregation  for  money.  It  is 
the  desire  of  his  soul  to  have  a  rood-screen  in 
his  chancel,  with  a  gilt  and  splendid  crucifix 
upon  the  top.  So,  armed  with  a  mouthful  of 
words  like  that,  he  gets  him  to  a  sort  of  cellar 


At  Seaming  Court  49 

near  St.  Paul's,  where  a  dear  old  gentleman, 
named  the  Right  Worshipful  T.  H.  Tristram, 
K.  C.,  D.C.L.,  sits,  in  a  big  wig  and  a  red  robe. 
The  parson  eloquently  explains  his  wishes,  and 
the  Right  Worshipful  tells  him  to  go  and  be 
hanged — or  polite  words  to  that  effect.  Then 
I  and  other  young  legal  'gents'  get  up  and 
talk  and  argue,  and  the  Right  Worshipful 
listens  until  he's  tired,  and  then  says  no 
again.  The  parson  goes  back  to  his  roodless 
temple  and  preaches  against  Erastianism,  and 
I  and  the  other  young  legal  'gents'  pouch  a 
few  guineas,  and  go  and  play  pool  at  the 
Oxford  and  Cambridge  Club." 

"And  then,"  Agatha  went  on, — "then  fa- 
ther makes  a  speech  and  writes  a  letter  to  the 
Times  and  gets  fearfully  excited  and  worried 
for  about  a  week,  neglects  his  meals,  passes 
sleepless  nights,  and  behaves  in  a  perfectly 
foolish  manner  generally.  Then  he  goes  down 
to  the  parish  and  has  a  convivial  meat  tea 
with  the  poor  parson,  and  before  he  goes  gives 
him  a  cheque  for  fifty  pounds  to  go  and  have 
a  holiday  with  after  all  the  strain!" 

"Exactly,"  said  Lucy,  "I  will  take  up  the 
parable.  "  I  have  seen  our  friend,  the  parson, 
in  the  unutterable  north  London  slum,  where 
my  poor  dear  brother  Bernard  spends  all  his 


50  A  Lost  Cause 

time  and  money.  He  goes,  as  you  say,  for  a 
holiday,  to  recover  from  the  scene  in  the  cellar 
near  St.  Paul's.  He  goes  to  Dieppe  or  Bou- 
logne, where  he  attends  the  cathedral  three 
times  a  day,  and  tries  to  fraternise  with  the 
priests,  who  regard  him  as  a  layman  mas- 
querading in  borrowed  plumes.  Iii  revenge, 
he  goes  and  makes  things  uncomfortable"  for 
the  local  English  chaplain,  who,  in  most  con- 
tinental towns,  is  an  undersized  person  with 
a  red  nose  and  an  enormous  red  moustache 
and  a  strong  flavour  of  Chadband  at  home. 
So  'all's  well  that  ends  well.'  But,  really, 
what  fearful  nonsense  it  all  is!  Is  n't  it  won- 
derful that  people  should  waste  their  ener- 
gies so!" 

"  If  it  amuses  them  it  does  n't  matter  in  the 
least,"  Agatha  said.  "Look  how  happy  it 
makes  poor  dear  father.  And  I  daresay  he 
does  good  in  his  way,  don't  you  know.  It's 
far  better  than  racing  or  anything  like  that. 
Poor  dear  Hermione  Blackbourne  was  staying 
here  not  long  ago,  and  she  was  telling  me 
what  a  wretched  time  they  have  at  home. 
Lord  Saltire  hardly  ever  pays  the  girls' 
allowances  unless  he's  won  a  race,  and  the 
poor  dears  have  to  study  the  sporting  papers 
to  know  if  they  '11  be  able  to  afford  new  frocks 


At  Seaming  Court  51 

for  Goodwood.  Father's  fads  are  at  least 
harmless,  or,  at  any  rate,  no  one  has  to  suffer 
for  what  he  gives  away." 

"The  old  type  of  clergyman  seems  to  have 
quite  died  out,"  Lucy  said.  "When  I  was  a 
little  girl,  the  rector  at  home  was  a  dear  old 
man,  who  dressed  just  like  an  ordinary  per- 
son, and  went  otter-hunting  three  days  a 
week.  Yet  I'm  sure  he  was  just  as  earnest 
as  any  of  these  new  faddy  people.  We  had 
a  delightful  old  pew,  with  a  fireplace  and 
chairs,  and  poor  dear  father  used  to  get  his 
nap.  And  as  for  altar  lights  and  copes  and 
incense,  I  don't  suppose  dear  old  Mr.  Jenkyns 
had  ever  heard  of  such  things.  The  amount 
of  money  that  Bernard  spends  on  his  church 
in  that  way  is  ridiculous." 

"The  only  good  I  can  see  in  it,"  James 
Poyntz  said,  ' '  is  that  it  brings  a  certain  colour 
element  into  drab  and  dull  lives.  The  people 
in  your  brother's  parish,  who  never  see  any 
thing  artistic,  must  gain  in  that  way,  I  sup- 
pose. After  all,  Miss  Blantyre,  'it's  an  ill 
wind  that  blows  nobody  any  good.'  All  this 
Church  nonsense  gives  pleasure,  however  much 
we  may  laugh  at  it.  Take  myself,  for  exam- 
ple. I  'm  intensely  amused  at  all  the  squab- 
bles that  go  on  between  Christians.  More 


5 2  A  Lost  Cause 

evil  passions  are  stirred  up  and  let  loose  over 
half  a  yard  of  green  silk  or  the  precise  manner 
in  which  half  an  ounce  of  flour  and  water  is 
baked  than  the  politics  of  a  century  excite! 
It 's  perfectly  true.  There 's  a  spirit  of  bitter 
hatred  in  it  all  that  is  intensely  interesting 
to  the  student  of  character.  There  are  hund- 
reds of  thousands  of  people  in  England  who 
would  burn  my  poor  father  in  front  of  St. 
Paul's  to-morrow  if  they  could — good,  re- 
spectable, honest  British  folk!" 

"Well,"  Lucy  said,  with  affected  gloom, 
"all  this  only  reminds  me  of  my  coming 
penance.  In  a  day  or  so  now,  I  must  dive 
into  Hornham  for  my  yearly  stay  with  Ber- 
nard. I  shall  emerge  quite  thin  and  crushed. 
I  always  do.  The  'clergy-house,'  as  they  call 
the  vicarage,  is  a  lugubrious  place  that  sug- 
gests a  rather  superior  workhouse.  When  I 
go,  the  drawing-room  is  solemnly  opened  by 
the  housekeeper.  Bernard  gives  a  couple  of 
dinner  parties  and  a  garden  party  to  a  set  of 
the  most  extraordinary  people  you  ever  saw 
in  your  life.  I  have  to  be  hostess  and  chatter 
to  weird  people,  with  whom  I  have  n't  a 
single  idea  in  common.  Lady  Linquest  drove 
down  from  Park  Lane  to  the  garden  party 
last  year.  I  shall  never  forget  it.  She  gave 


At  Seaming  Court  53 

Bernard  such  a  talking  to,  told  him  to  '  dress 
like  a  gentleman,'  and  exchange  to  a  nice 
country  parish  with  some  county  people  close 
by,  and  marry.  I  wish  he  would,  too!  He's 
wasting  his  life,  his  money,  and  his  health  in 
that  awful  place.  I  don't  wonder  at  aunt's 
being  angry.  Why  can't  he  do  as  she  says? 
He  could  have  high  jinks  in  a  nice  little  coun- 
try church  in  one  of  the  home  counties  just 
as  well  as  where  he  is  now." 

"Beastly  life,  I  should  think,"  James 
Poyntz  said.  "Does  he  live  all  alone?" 

"Oh,  the  two  curates  live  with  him,  Father 
Stephens  and  Father  King — they're  all  'fa- 
thers,' it  seems.  These  are  two  intense 
youths,  who  dress  in  cassocks  and  tippets  all 
day  long,  and  wear  their  berrettas  everywhere. 
I  think  it 's  positively  indecent  to  sit  down  to 
a  meal  dressed  like  that.  But  the  worst  of  it 
is,  that  there 's  always  some  fast  day  or  other, 
and  I  feel  an  awful  pig  to  be  having  chicken 
and  claret  while  the  other  three  have  oat- 
meal and  apples.  But  I  insisted  on  proper 
meals  last  year,  much  to  the  disgust  of  a 
gaunt  old  cat  of  a  housekeeper,  whom  Bernard 
thinks  the  whole  world  of." 

She  stopped,  laughing  at  her  own  volubility, 
and  lay  back  upon  the  cushions,  staring  up  at 


54  A  Lost  Cause 

the  green-leaf  canopy  above  her  head.  All 
these  questions  seemed  very  trivial  and  un- 
real at  that  moment,  in  that  pleasant  place  of 
sunshine,  soft  breezes,  and  the  murmur  of 
falling  water.  She  thought  of  the  long,  mean, 
suburban  streets  of  Hornham  with  humorous 
dismay.  Thank  goodness  that  she  was  only 
going  to  spend  a  fortnight  there,  and  then 
would  be  away  in  a  gay  continental  watering- 
place  with  Lady  Linquest.  But  the  few  days 
were  imperative.  She  was  fond  of  her  brother 
and  knew  how  bitterly  disappointed  he  would 
be  if  she  were  to  withdraw  from  her  promise 
to  stay  at  St.  Elwyn's.  It  was  a  duty  which 
must  be  done,  and  it  was  an  unkind  fate  in- 
deed that  had  placed  her  brother  in  surround- 
ings which  were  .so  uncongenial  to  her,  and 
endowed  him  with  opinions  so  alien  to  her 
own. 

James  Poyntz  had  lighted  a  cigarette.  The 
smoke  curled  upwards  in  delicate  grey  spirals, 
and  he  could  see  his  sister's  friend  through 
them,  surrounded  by  a  shifting  frame  which 
cut  off  the  striking  and  clever  face  from  its 
immediate  surroundings,  giving  it  a  vivid  and 
independent  individuality.  He  could  survey 
it  more  completely  so.  There  was  something 
in  Lucy  Blantyre  that  had  begun  to  appeal  to 


At  Seaming  Court  55 

the  young  man  with  great  and  greater  strength 
as  the  days  went  on.  She  was  close  upon 
beauty,  and  she  had  all  the  charm  of  a  high- 
spirited  and  well-bred  girl  in  perfect  health,  and 
knowing  no  trouble  in  life.  But  in  the  life  to 
which  he  had  been  born,  girls  like  her  were 
not  uncommon.  Despite  the  fiction-mongers 
who  fulminate  against  the  vices  of  "society," 
and  would  have  their  readers  believe  that  the 
flower  of  English  girlhood  is  to  be  found  in 
the  middle  class  alone,  Poyntz  knew  many 
gracious  girls  who  were  worthy  to  stand  by 
any  man's  side  throughout  life.  But  in  Lucy 
Blantyre  he  was  beginning  to  discern  some- 
thing deeper  and  stronger.  He  thought  that 
he  saw  in  her  a  wonderful  capacity  for  com- 
panionship, a  real  talent  for  wifehood.  He 
could  imagine  that  she  would  be  more  to  her 
husband  than  an  ordinary  wife,  identified 
with  his  hopes  and  career  with  all  her  soul's 
power,  one  for  whom  Milton's  epithalamium 
itself  would  not  be  unworthy,  with  its  splendid 
"Hail,  wedded  love!" 

But,  though  such  thoughts  had  been  in  and 
out  of  his  mind  for  some  time,  he  was  hardly 
in  love  with  her  as  yet.  His  temperament 
was  honest  and  sincere,  but  cool  and  judicial 
also.  He  was  the  last  man  to  take  any 


56  A  Lost  Cause 

definite  step  without  a  full  weighing  of  the 
chances  and  results. 

But  the  two  had  become  great  friends. 
Agatha  Poyntz  had  her  own  thoughts  about 
the  matter,  and  they  were  very  pleasant  ones. 
Nothing  would  have  pleased  her  more  than 
the  marriage  of  her  brother  and  her  friend, 
and  she  had  made  tete-a-t§tes  for  them  in  the 
adroit,  unobtrusive  manner  that  girls  know. 

In  all  his  conversations  with  Lucy,  Poyntz 
had  found  a  keen,  resilient  brain  that  an- 
swered to  his  thoughts  in  precisely  the  way 
he  wished.  The  tinge  of  cynicism  in  her  cor- 
responded to  the  flavour  of  it  in  him,  and 
there  was  sometimes  real  wit  and  understand- 
ing in  her  mockery. 

She  "suited"  him — that  is  how  he  would 
have  put  it — and  he  was  now  beginning  to 
ask  and  examine  himself  if  love  were  not 
being  born,  a  love  which  might  make  their 
union  a  perfect  and  lasting  thing  upon  his 
way  through  life.  Of  her  sentiments  towards 
him  he  knew  no  more  than  that  she  sincerely 
liked  him  and  that  they  were  friends. 

The  regular  throbbing  pant  of  a  steam 
launch  on  the  silver  Thames  outside  was 
heard,  and  Lucy  turned  suddenly  in  Poyntz's 
direction.  She  saw  that  he  was  looking  at 


At  Seaming  Court  57 

her  gravely  and  steadily.  A  very  faint  flush 
came  into  her  cheeks,  almost  imperceptible 
indeed,  and  then  she  smiled  frankly  at  him. 

He  smiled  also,  pleased  with  himself  and 
her,  and  with  a  sense  that  a  new  intimacy 
was  suddenly  established  between  them,  an 
odd  sense  of  which  he  was  quite  certain. 

Agatha  looked  at  the  little  watch  in  a 
leather  bracelet  on  her  wrist.  "It's  nearly 
lunch  time!"  she  said;  "I  don't  know  how 
you  people  feel,  but  the  word  has  a  very  wel- 
come sound  to  me.  Jim,  get  up  and  punt  us 
home.  You'll  be  able  to  argue  with  Father 
Saltus;  I've  asked  him  to  lunch  with  us  to- 
day. I  did  n't  know  you  were  coming  down. " 

She  spoke  of  Lord  Huddersfield's  domestic 
chaplain,  a  wise  and  courtly  elderly  man, 
whom  they  all  liked,  without  in  the  least 
realising  the  part  he  played  in  Church  affairs, 
regarding  him,  indeed,  as  a  harmless  student 
and  a  pleasant  companion,  but  no  more. 

In  fact,  as  the  light  and  careless  conversa- 
tion of  all  of  them  showed,  not  one  of  the 
three  young  people  had  the  remotest  idea  of 
what  they  were  discussing.  And  though  each 
one  of  them  had  a  sense  of  humour,  they  were 
not  able  to  see  the  humorous  side  of  their  airy 
patronage  of  the  Catholic  Church!  This  Mr. 


58  A  Lost  Cause 

Saltus  was  known  as  one  of  the  most  pro- 
found metaphysicians  of  the  day.  The  great- 
est modern  brains  were  influenced  by  his 
writings  in  Christian  apologetics;  bishops, 
statesmen,  great  scientists  knew  of  him  as 
one  to  whom  it  was  given  to  show  how  all 
thought  and  all  philosophy  were  daily  prov- 
ing the  truth  of  the  Incarnation.  His  work 
in  the  life  of  the  Church  was  this,  and  he  was 
Lord  Huddersfield's  chaplain  because  that 
position  gave  him  leisure  and  freedom  for  his 
work,  and  kept  him  in  touch  with  the  very 
centre  of  things. 

James  Poyntz  had  arrived  from  London  by 
an  early  train,  and  had  joined  the  girls  at 
once. 

In  a  moment  or  two,  the  young  man  was 
propelling  the  long  mahogany  punt  with  easy 
strokes  towards  the  artificial  cutting  which 
led  to  the  Seaming  boathouse.  Then,  laugh- 
ing and  talking  together,  the  three  strolled 
over  the  wonderful  lawns,  pneumatic  to  the 
tread,  brilliant  as  emerald  to  the  eye,  towards 
the  old  house  with  its  encircling  oaks  and 
elms. 

The  tall  red  chimneys  rose  up  between  the 
leaves,  that  triumph  of  the  Tudor  style, 
which  alone  of  all  architectural  systems  has 


At  Seaming  Court  59 

shown  how  chimneys  may  aid  and  complete 
the  beauty  of  a  building.  The  house  rested 
upon  the  lawns  as  if  it  might  float  away  at 
any  moment,  as  they  passed  round  an  ancient 
grey  dove-cot  and  some  formal  box-trees,  and 
came  in  sight  of  the  beautiful  place.  James 
Poyntz  gave  a  quick  breath  of  pleasure  as  he 
saw  it,  the  old  riverside  palace  of  his  ancestors. 
There  were  other  houses  which  would  one  day 
be  his — a  great,  grim  Yorkshire  fortress,  the 
gay  villa  at  Nice  by  the  old  citadel  of  Mont- 
Albano,  where  the  Paglion  sings  its  song  of 
the  mountain  torrent,  the  decorous  London 
mansion  in  Berkeley  Square.  But  of  all,  he 
loved  the  old  Tudor  house  by  the  river  best. 

How  well  Lucy  walked!  her  carriage  was 
a  pleasure  to  watch.  Yes!  she  harmonised 
with  her  background,  she  was  in  correspond- 
ence with  her  environment,  she  would  be  a  fit 
mistress  of  Seaming  in  some  dim  future  day. 

They  sat  down  to  lunch  in  an  ancient,  mel- 
low room,  panelled  in  oak,  with  Tudor  roses 
everywhere.  It  was  beautifully  cool  and 
fresh  after  the  glare  outside.  Father  Saltus 
was  a  tall  and  very  portly  elderly  man.  His 
head  was  large,  formed  on  a  grand  scale,  and 
his  mouth  powerful  but  good-humoured.  His 
eyebrows  were  very  bushy  and  extremely 


60  A  Lost  Cause 

white,  and  they  overhung  eyes  which  were  of 
a  dark  grey,  deep  but  not  sombre,  with  much 
that  was  latent  there. 

The  meal  was  progressing  merrily  when  the 
butler  entered  and  spoke  to  the  footman  who 
had  been  waiting  on  them.  Then  he  went  up 
to  Agatha.  "His  Lordship  has  returned, 
Miss,"  he  said,  "and  will  be  down  to  lunch 
in  a  moment." 

Lord  Huddersfield  had  been  away  for  sev- 
eral days.  The  family  house  in  London  was 
let,  as  the  Baron  did  not  entertain  largely 
since  his  wife's  death.  Agatha's  season  was 
spent  under  the  wing  of  the  St.  Justs,  her 
mother's  people.  But  Lord  Huddersfield  had 
chambers  in  Piccadilly,  and  no  one  ever  quite 
knew  whether  or  not  he  would  be  at  Seaming 
at  any  given  time. 

He  entered  in  a  moment,  a  slim,  spectacled 
man,  with  a  short  beard,  very  quietly  dressed, 
a  man  who  did  not,  at  first  glance,  in  any 
way  suggest  the  power  he  wielded  or  the 
strenuous  personality  he  was. 

He  kissed  his  daughter,  shook  hands  with 
his  son,  Lucy,  and  the  chaplain,  and  sat  down. 
They  noticed  that  he  was  pale  and  worried. 

"Have  any  of  you  seen  the  papers?"  he 
said  in  a  strong,  resonant  voice,  which  came 


At  Seaming  Court  61 

oddly  from  a  man  so  ordinary  and  undistin- 
guished in  appearance. 

"I  saw  the  Times  this  morning,  Father,'* 
Poyntz  said,  "but  that  is  all."  The  girls 
confessed  that  they  had  not  touched  the  pile 
of  journals  in  the  library,  and  Mr.  Saltus  said 
he  had  been  writing  letters  all  the  morning 
and  so  had  not  yet  been  able  to  see  the  news. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Lord  Huddersfield 
sadly.  "I  had  hoped  that  you  would  have 
seen  the  thing  that  has  happened.  I  had 
hoped  that  I  should  not  have  had  to  tell  you, 
Miss  Blantyre." 

His  voice  was  so  charged  with  meaning 
that  Lucy  shivered.  Her  eyes  became  full 
of  apprehension.  "Why  me,  Lord  Hudders- 
field?" she  said,  "what  has  happened?" 

Agatha,  who  was  thoroughly  frightened, 
laid  a  sympathetic  hand  upon  her  friend's 
arm.  James,  who  was  gazing  anxiously  at 
the  girl,  suddenly  turned  to  his  father. 

"I  think  you  had  better  tell  your  news 
right  out,"  he  said  quietly.  "Don't  keep  Miss 
Blantyre  in  suspense,  Father;  it  is  mistaken 
kindness.  I  am  sure  that  she  will  be  brave." 

Every  one  looked  at  Lord  Huddersfield ;  the 
air  was  tense  with  expectation.  "Your  good 
brother,  Miss  Blantyre,"  the  peer  began — Lucy 


62  A  Lost  Cause 

gave  a  quick  gasp  and  the  colour  faded  from 
her  lips — "your  good  brother,  yesterday  in 
church,  was  saying  Mass  when  suddenly  some 
local  residents  rose  in  their  places  and  made 
an  open  protest,  shouting  and  brawling  at  the 
very  moment  of  the  Prayer  of  Consecration! " 

Lucy  gazed  steadfastly  at  him,  waiting. 
He  said  nothing  more.  "Go  on,  please,"  she 
managed  to  whisper  at  last. 

"They  were  at  once  ejected,  of  course," 
Lord  Huddersfield  said. 

"And  Bernard?" 

"Although  his  state  of  mind  must  have 
been  terrible,  despite  his  pain,  I  learn  from  a 
private  telegram  that  he  continued  the  ser- 
vice to  the  end." 

The  three  young  people  stared  incredu- 
lously; only  Father  Saltus  suddenly  looked 
very  grave. 

"But — why — is  that  all,  Lord  Hudders- 
field?" Lucy  said  with  a  gasp  of  half -relief. 
' '  I  thought  you  meant  that  something  dread- 
ful had  happened  to  Bernard." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  very  surprised,  "I  have 
told  you." 

James  picked  up  his  knife  and  fork,  and 
continued  his  lunch  without  a  word.  He  was 
very  angry  with  his  father. 


At  Seaming  Court  63 

Agatha  shrugged  her  shoulders  slightly. 

"Oh,  that  was  n't  quite  fair,  Lord  Hudders- 
field,"  Lucy  said  tremulously.  "You  really 
made  me  think  some  awful  thing  had  hap- 
pened. Only  a  brawl  in  church?" 

"I  am  very  sorry,  my  dear,"  he  answered 
quickly;  "I  fear  I  have  shown  a  great  want 
of  tact.  I  did  not  know.  I  forgot,  that  is, 
that  you  don't  quite  see  these  things  as  we 
do.  You  don't  realise  what  it  means." 

"Shall  I  give  you  some  chicken,  Father?" 
Agatha  said,  looking  at  a  dish  of  mayonnaise 
before  her.  She  thought  that  there  had  been 
quite  a  fuss  made  about  nothing. 

Lord  Huddersfield  sighed.  He  felt  that  he 
was  in  a  thoroughly  uncongenial  atmosphere, 
though  he  was  sorry  for  the  alarm  he  had 
caused.  Once  his  eye  fell  in  mild  wonder 
upon  his  guest.  How  unlike  her  brother  she 
was,  he  thought. 

There  was  an  awkward  silence,  which  James 
broke  at  length. 

"I  always  thought,"  he  said,  "that  there 
would  be  trouble  soon.  The  days  for  locking 
clergymen  up  have  passed  by,  but  Protestant 
feeling  is  bound  to  have  its  outlet." 

His  quick  brain  had  seized  upon  the  main 
point  at  once. 


64  A  Lost  Cause 

"Well,  there  will  be  more  work  for  the 
lawyers,"  he  continued. 

Lord  Huddersfield  frowned  a  little.  "Of 
course,  I  can't  expect  you  to  see  the  thing  as 
I  do,  James,"  he  said.  "To  me  such  a  public 
insult  to  our  Lord  is  terrible.  It  almost 
frightens  one.  What  poor  Blantyre  must 
have  felt,  what  every  Catholic  there  must 
have  felt,  is  most  painful  to  imagine." 

"I'm  sure  Mr.  Poyntz  has  sympathy  with 
any  body  of  people  whose  most  sacred  mo- 
ment has  been  roughly  disturbed,"  the  chap- 
lain said.  "Whatever  a  man's  convictions 
may  be,  he  must  feel  that.  But  the  thing  is 
over  and  nothing  can  put  it  right.  What  I 
fear  is,  that  this  is  only  the  beginning  of  a 
series  of  sacrilegious  acts  which  may  do  the 
Church  incalculable  harm." 

"The  newspaper  report,  which  appeared 
everywhere  but  in  the  Times"  Lord  Hudders- 
field replied,  "stated  that  it  was  only  the 
beginning  of  a  campaign.  All  the  reports 
were  identical  and  apparently  supplied  to 
the  papers  by  the  same  person,  probably  the 
brawlers  themselves — who  appear  to  be  people 
of  no  consequence  whatever." 

"There  will  be  a  service  of  reparation?" 
asked  the  chaplain. 


At  Seaming  Court  65 

"Yes,  to-morrow,"  answered  Lord  Hud- 
dersfield.  "I  am  going  down  to  Hornham 
and  shall  be  present.  We  must  discuss  every- 
thing with  Blantyre  and  settle  exactly  what 
lines  the  Church  Standard  will  take  up. " 

"Of  course,  Mr.  Blantyre  will  prosecute?" 
James  said. 

"Oh,  yes.  My  telegram  told  me  that  the 
summons  had  already  been  issued.  The  law 
is  quite  clear,  I  suppose,  on  the  point,  James  ? " 

"Quite.  Brawling  in  church  is  a  grave 
offence.  But  these  people  will,  of  course, 
pose  as  martyrs.  Public  opinion  will  be  with 
them,  a  nominal  fine  will  be  inflicted,  and 
they  '11  find  themselves  heroes.  I  'm  afraid  the 
Ritualists  are  going  to  have  a  bad  time.  In 
'68,  the  Martin  v.  Mackonochie  judgment  was 
very  plain,  and  in  '71  the  judicial  committee 
of  the  Privy  Council  was  plainer  still  in  the 
case  of  Herbert  v.  Punchas.  Then,  after  the 
Public  Worship  Regulation  Act,  the  Risdale 
judgment  clinched  the  whole  thing.  That 
was  at  the  beginning  of  it  all.  Now,  though 
prosecutions  have  been  almost  discontinued, 
the  few  cases  that  have  been  heard  before  the 
ecclesiastical  courts  are  all  the  same.  So  far 
as  I  can  see,  if  this  pleasant  little  habit  of 
getting  up  and  brawling  protests  in  church 


66  A  Lost  Cause 

becomes  popular,  a  big  fire  will  be  lighted  and 
the  advanced  men  will  have  to  draw  in  their 
horns." 

Lord  Huddersfield  smiled.  He  attempted  no 
argument  or  explanation.  He  had  thrashed 
out  these  questions  with  his  son  long  ago. 
Father  Saltus  spoke  instead. 

"If  this  really  spreads  into  a  movement, 
as  it  may,"  he  said,  "ignorant  public  opinion 
will  be  with  the  protestors  for  a  month  or 
two.  But  that  is  all.  The  man  in  the  street 
will  say  that  every  one  has  a  right  to  hold 
whatever  religious  opinions  he  pleases,  and  to 
convert  others  to  his  views — if  he  can — by 
the  ordinary  methods  of  propagandism.  But 
he  will  also  say  that  no  one  has  a  right  to  air 
his  opinions  by  disturbing  the  devotions  of 
those  who  don't  happen  to  agree  with  him. 
And  what  is  more,  no  religious  cause  was  ever 
advanced  by, these  means.  I  have  no  doubt 
that  these  people  will  boast  and  brag  that 
they  are  vindicating  the  cause  of  law  in  the 
Church  of  England.  But  if  they  knew  any- 
thing of  the  history  of  that  Protestantism 
they  champion — which,  of  course,  they  don't, 
for  they  know  nothing  whatever — they  would 
know  that  the  law  is  the  most  impotent  of  all 
weapons  to  crush  a  religious  movement." 


At  Seaming  Court  67 

James  nodded.  "  It  is  a  truism  of  history," 
he  agreed. 

"Exactly.  To  call  in  the  aid  of  the  law  to 
counteract  the  spread  of  any  religious  doc- 
trine or  ceremonial  is  to  adopt  the  precise 
means  that  sent  the  Oxford  martyrs  to  the 
stake  and  lighted  the  Smithfield  fires.  From 
the  days  when  the  High  Priests  called  in  the 
law's  aid  to  nip  Christianity  in  the  bud,  the 
appeal  to  the  law  has  never  been  anything 
but  an  appeal  to  the  spirit  of  intolerance  and 
persecution  against  the  freedom  of  religious 
belief  and  worship." 

Agatha  rose  from  the  table.  "Come  along, 
Lucy  dear,"  she  said;  "  'all's  well  that  ends 
well,'  and  your  brother's  not  going  to  have  a 
bomb  thrown  at  him  just  yet.  You  will  be 
in  the  thick  of  the  disturbance  in  a  few  days; 
meanwhile,  make  the  most  of  the  river  and  the 
sunshine!  Jim,  come  and  punt  us  to  the 
Eyot." 

She  kissed  her  father  and  fluttered  away 
singing  happily  a  snatch  of  an  old  song, 
Green  Grow  the  Rushes  0! 

The  others  followed  her.  The  two  elder 
men  were  left  alone,  and  for  a  minute  or  two 
neither  spoke. 

Then  Saltus  said:    "They  are  all  young, 


68  A  Lost  Cause 

they  have  made  no  contact  with  real  life  yet. 
God  does  not  always  call  in  early  life.  To 
some  people,  the  cross  that  is  set  so  high  over 
the  world  is  like  a  great  star, — it  is  not  seen 
until  the  surrounding  sky  is  darkened  and  the 
sun  grows  dim." 

"I  am  going  into  the  chapel,"  Lord  Hud- 
dersfield  said,  "to  be  alone  for  an  hour.  There 
must  be  many  prayers  going  up  to-day  to 
God  for  the  wrong  these  poor  ignorant  men 
have  done." 

"Pray  that  they  may  be  forgiven.  And 
then,  my  dear  Lord,"  he  continued,  "suppose 
we  have  a  talk  over  the  situation  that  has 
been  created — if  any  situation  beyond  the 
purely  local  one  has  been  created."  A  fight- 
ing look  came  into  his  face.  "We  shall  be 
wise  to  be  prepared,  to  have  our  guns  loaded." 

"Yes,  Father,"  Lord  Huddersfield  said 
rather  grimly,  "we  are  not  without  power 
and  influence,  I  am  happy  to  think." 


CHAPTER  IV 

LUCY  BLANTYRE  AT  THE  CLERGY-HOUSE 

LUCY  BLANTYRE  left  Seaming  Court  on 
Thursday  morning.  James  Poyntz  trav- 
elled up  to  town  with  her.  She  was  to  go 
home  to  Park  Lane  for  an  hour  or  two,  make 
one  of  the  guests  at  a  lunch  party  with  Lady 
Linquest,  and  then,  in  the  afternoon,  drive 
down  to  Hornham. 

She  was  alone  in  a  first-class  carriage  with 
James  during  the  whole  of  the  journey  to 
London.  The  last  three  days  had  marked  a 
stage  in  their  intercourse.  Both  of  them  were 
perfectly  aware  of  that.  Intimacy  between  a 
young  man  and  a  girl  is  very  rarely  a  station- 
ary thing.  It  progresses  in  one  direction  or 
another.  James  began  to  talk  much  of  his 
ambitions.  He  told  her  how  he  meant  to 
carve  his  way  in  the  world,  the  place  he  meant 
to  take.  The  Poyntz  family  was  a  long-lived 
one;  Lord  Huddersfield  himself  was  only 
middle-aged,  and  might  live  another  thirty 
years.  James  hoped  that  it  would  be  so. 

69 


70  A  Lost  Cause 

"I  want  to  win  my  own  way  by  myself," 
he  said.  "I  hope  the  title  will  not  come  for 
many  years.  It  would  mean  extinction  if  it 
came  now.  You  sympathise  with  that,  don't 
you?" 

She  was  very  kind  to  him.  Her  answers 
showed  a  real  interest  in  his  confidences,  but 
more  than  that.  There  was  acumen  and 
shrewdness  in  them. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "I  do  hate  and  de- 
test the  way  the  ordinary  young  man  in  my 
position  lives.  It  is  so  futile  and  silly.  I 
recognised  it  even  at  Oxford.  Because  of 
one's  father,  one  was  expected  to  be  a  silly 
fool  and  do  no  work.  Of  course,  there  were 
some  decent  fellows, — Dover,  the  Duke  of 
Dover,  was  quiet  and  thought  about  things. 
But  all  my  friends  were  drawn  from  the  social 
class  which  people  suppose  to  be  just  below  our 
own,  the  upper  middle  class.  It 's  the  backbone 
of  England.  Men  in  it  take  life  seriously." 

He  stopped  after  a  time,  and  gazed  out  of 
the  window  at  the  flying  landscape.  Sud- 
denly he  turned  to  her.  "I'm  so  glad  you 
are  my  sister's  great  friend,  Lucy,"  he  said. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  spoken  her 
first  name  to  her.  His  tone  was  charged  with 
meaning. 


At  the  Clergy-House  71 

She  looked  up  quickly,  and  saw  that  his 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  her. 

"You  are  all  very  kind  to  me,"  she  said. 

"Every  one  would  be  kind  to  you.  I  have 
been  very  happy  since  you  have  let  me  be 
your  friend.  Do  you  know  that  my  work  and 
my  hopes  seem  dearer  than  ever  to  me  now 
that  I  have  told  you  so  much  of  them.  We 
have  got  to  know  each  other  very  well, 
have  n't  we?" 

"Very  well." 

"We  shall  know  each  other  better.  It  is 
my  hope.  I  wonder  if  I  might  write  to  you 
now  and  then,  and  tell  you  some  of  my 
thoughts  and  how  things  are  with  me? 
Would  such  letters  bore  you?" 

"I  should  value  them,  and  think  them  a 
privilege.  A  woman  is  always  gratified  when 
a  man  confides  his  thoughts  to  her.  So  many 
men  never  allow  a  woman  friend  to  see  below 
the  surface,  and  so  many  men — at  any  rate, 
men  that  I  am  in  the  way  of  meeting — 
have  no  thoughts  to  tell  one  even  if  they 
would." 

The  train  began  to  go  more  slowly  as  it 
rumbled  through  the  dingy  environs,  and 
shook  over  the  myriad  points  of  Waterloo 
Station.  Neither  of  them  spoke  again.  There 


72  A  Lost  Cause 

was  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of  either  as  to  the 
meaning  of  the  situation. 

The  girl  had  gathered  all  his  thoughts  from 
his  tone.  It  was  very  pleasant  to  be  with 
him,  this  sane  and  brilliant  young  man  with 
a  great  name  and  such  powers.  It  made  her 
happy  to  know  how  he  regarded  her — that  out 
of  all  the  girls  he  knew  he  had  chosen  her  for 
a  friend.  He  would  some  day  ask  her  to  be 
something  more;  that  also  she  knew,  and 
knew  that  he  was  conveying  it  to  her.  She 
did  not  love  him,  love  was  a  word  not  very 
real  to  her  as  yet.  Her  mental  eyes  had 
never  visualised  it,  it  was  an  abstraction. 
But  she  liked  and  admired  him  more  than 
any  other  man  of  her  set:  he  was  a  man. 
Well,  there  was  time  enough  yet  to  think  of 
all  that.  Meanwhile  his  deference  was  sweet ; 
her  heart  warmed  to  him  as  his,  she  knew, 
was  warm  to  her  at  that  moment. 

He  saw  her  to  the  door  of  the  waiting  vic- 
toria, and  stood  chatting  for  a  moment  in  the 
hurry  of  the  station,  making  the  footman 
mount  his  box  again. 

Then  he  gave  the  signal  to  start,  and  stood 
upon  the  platform  by  his  hansom  as  she  was 
driven  rapidly  away.  Once  she  turned  and 
waved  a  hand  to  him. 


At  the  Clergy-House  73 

Lucy  lay  back  in  the  carriage,  pleased  with 
herself  and  all  the  world.  She  had  come  on 
to  Victoria,  instead  of  getting  out  at  Vaux- 
hall,  specially  to  enjoy  the  longer  drive.  It 
was  a  brilliant  day,  and  as  the  carriage  came 
upon  Waterloo  Bridge,  the  wonderful  pan- 
orama of  riverside  London  was  uplifting. 
Away  to  her  right,  the  purple  dome  of  St. 
Paul's  shone  white-grey  in  the  sun.  The  great 
river  glittered  in  the  morning  air,  and  busy 
craft  moved  up  and  down  the  tide.  The 
mammoth  buildings  of  the  embankment, 
Somerset  House  with  its  noble  facade,  the 
Savoy,  the  monster  Cecil,  the  tiled  roofs  of 
Scotland  Yard  all  came  to  the  eye  in  one 
majestic  sweep  of  form  and  colour.  And  far 
away  to  the  left,  dim  in  a  haze  of  light,  the 
towers  of  Westminster  rose  like  a  fairy  palace, 
tipped  with  flame  as  the  sun  caught  the  gold 
upon  the  vanes  and  spires. 

London!  yes!  it  was,  after  all,  the  most 
beautiful  city  in  the  world,  seen  thus,  at  this 
hour,  from  this  place.  How  the  heart  quick- 
ened and  warmed  to  it. 

Suddenly  the  thought  of  Hornham  came  to 
her.  She  made  a  little  involuntary  movement 
of  disgust.  For  a  whole  fortnight  she  would 
be  there.  It  would  be  intolerable.  Why 


74  A  Lost  Cause 

could  not  Bernard  come  to  Park  Lane  for  a 
fortnight?  How  much  more  sensible  that 
would  be. 

Well,  it  was  no  good  thinking  of  it.  The 
thing  must  be  done.  Yet,  from  one  point  of 
view  how  curious  it  was.  How  strange  that 
a  drive  of  two  hours  would  plunge  her  into  a 
world  entirely  foreign  and  alien  in  every  way 
to  her  world. 

She  was  driving  up  Grosvenor  Place  now, 
by  the  long  walls  of  the  King's  Palace  Garden, 
over  which  the  trees  showed  fresh  and  green. 
The  stately  street,  with  the  Park  gates  at  the 
end  of  its  vista,  only  accentuated  the  con- 
trast. She  utterly  failed  to  understand  how 
any  one  could  do  what  her  brother  did.  There 
was  not  the  slightest  reason  for  the  endurance 
of  these  horrors.  His  personal  income  was 
large,  his  family  connections  were  influential. 
He  could  obtain  a  fashionable  West  End  liv- 
ing without  any  trouble.  She  was  still  scorn- 
fully wondering  as  the  carriage  stopped  at 
Lady  Linquest's  house  in  Park  Lane. 

Lucy  found  her  aunt  in  a  little  room  of 
china-blue  and  canary-yellow  which  looked 
out  over  the  Park. 

She  was  a  tall  woman,  of  full  figure.  The 
face  was  bright  and  animated,  though  some- 


At  the  Clergy-House  75 

what  sensual,  inasmuch  as  it  showed  that  its 
owner  appreciated  the  good  material  things 
that  life  has  to  offer.  At  sixty-two,  when 
dames  of  the  middle  classes  have  silver  hair 
and  are  beginning  to  assume  the  gentle  man- 
ners of  age,  Lady  Lin  quest  wore  the  high 
curled  fringe  of  the  fashion,  a  mass  of  dark 
red  hair  that  had  started  life  upon  the  head 
of  a  Breton  peasant  girl.  Art  had  been  at 
work  upon  her  face  and  she  was  pleasant  to 
look  on,  an  artificial  product  indeed,  but 
with  all  the  charm  that  a  perfect  work  of  art 
has. 

She  made  no  secret  of  it  to  her  intimate 
friends,  and  no  one  thought  any  the  worse  of 
her  in  a  society  where  nearly  every  one  who 
has  need  of  aids  to  good  looks  buys  them  in 
Bond  Street.  Indeed,  she  was  quite  unable 
to  understand  what  she  called  "the  middle 
class  horror  of  paint."  "Why  on  earth,"  she 
would  say,  "any  one  can  possibly  object  to 
an  old  woman  making  herself  look  as  pleasant 
as  possible  for  the  last  few  years  of  her  life,  I 
can't  make  out.  It's  a  duty  one  owes  to 
one's  friends.  It  sweetens  life.  At  any  rate, 
/  don't  intend  to  go  about  like  old  Mother 
Hubbard  or  the  witch  in  whatshername." 

"Lucy,  my  dear,"  said  this  vivacious  dame 


76  A  Lost  Cause 

as  her  niece  entered,  "you're  looking  your 
best  this  morning.  And  when  you  look  your 
best  my  experience  generally  tells  me  that 
you've  been  up  to  some  wickedness  or  other! 
How's  Agatha,  and  has  James  Poyntz  been 
at  Seaming,  and  how's  that  poor  dear  man, 
Huddersfield,  who  always  reminds  me  of  a 
churchwarden?  He  is  the  king  of  all  the 
churchwardens  in  England,  I  think." 

Lucy  sat  down  and  endeavoured  to  answer 
the  flood  of  questions  as  satisfactorily  as 
might  be,  while  Lady  Linquest  took  her  mid- 
morning  pick-me-up  of  Liebig  and  cognac. 

The  good  lady  gave  her  niece  a  rapid  precis 
of  the  news  of  their  set  during  the  few  days 
she  had  been  away.  "So  that  you'll  know," 
she  said,  "what  to  talk  about  at  General 
Pompe's  lunch — your  last  decent  meal,  by  the 
way,  for  a  fortnight!  I  shall  give  orders  to 
the  cook  to  put  a  hamper  in  the  carriage  for 
you  to  take  with  you  to  Bernard's.  All  those 
poor  young  men  starve  themselves." 

She  rattled  away  thus  while  Lucy  went  to 
her  own  room  to  dress.  For  some  reason  or 
other,  why  she  could  not  exactly  divine,  she 
was  dissatisfied  and  ill  at  ease.  The  exhilara- 
tion of  the  railway  journey,  of  the  wonderful 
drive  through  sunlit  London,  had  gone.  Her 


At  the  Clergy- House  77 

aunt,  kind  creature  as  she  was,  jarred  upon 
her  this  morning.  How  terribly  shallow  the 
good  lady  seemed,  after  all!  She  was  like 
some  gaudy  fly  dancing  over  a  sunlit  brook — 
or  even  circling  round  malodorous  farmyard 
stuff — brilliant,  useless,  and  with  nothing 
inside  but  the  mere  muscles  of  its  activity. 
James  Poyntz's  words  recurred  to  her,  his 
deep  scorn  of  a  purely  frivolous,  pleasure- 
loving  life  was  present  in  her  brain. 

Lucy  was  genuinely  fond  of  Lady  Linquest, 
but  somehow  on  this  bright  morning  to  hear 
a  woman  with  one  foot  in  the  grave  talking 
nothing  but  scandal  and  empty  catchwords 
of  Vanity  Fair,  struck  with  a  certain  chill  to 
her  heart. 

To  see  her  sitting  there,  curled,  painted, 
scented,  sipping  her  tonic  drink,  ready  for  a 
smart  party  of  people  as  empty  and  useless  as 
herself,  was  to  see  a  thing  that  hurt,  after  the 
experiences  of  the  morning. 

Lucy  had  not  taken  her  maid  to  Seaming. 
She  had  wanted  to  live  as  simply  as  possible 
there,  to  live  the  outdoors  riverside  life. 
And  she  was  not  going  to  take  Angelique  to 
Hornham  either — where  the  girl  would  be 
miserable  and  a  nuisance  to  the  grave  little 
community  there.  She  felt  very  glad,  as 


78  A  Lost  Cause 

the  chattering  little  French  woman  helped 
her  to  dress,  that  she  was  not  coming  with 
her.  The  maid's  voluble  boulevard  French 
got  on  her  nerves ;  the  powder  on  her  face, 
which  showed  violet  in  the  sunlight,  the  strong 
scent  of  verbena  she  wore,  the  expression  of 
being  abnormally  "aware" — all  these  were 
foreign  to  Lucy's  mood,  and  she  noticed  them 
with  an  almost  physical  sense  of  disapproval 
that  she  had  never  before  felt  so  strongly. 

The  drive  to  the  smart  hotel  near  Piccadilly 
only  took  five  or  six  minutes,  and  the  two 
ladies  were  soon  shaking  hands  with  old  Gen- 
eral Pompe,  their  host.  General  the  Hon. 
Reginald  Pompe  was  an  old  creature  who  was 
only  kept  from  senile  decay  by  his  stays.  He 
was  unmarried,  extremely  wealthy,  and  the 
fashion.  In  his  younger  days,  his  life  had 
been  abominable;  now,  his  age  allowed  him 
to  do  nothing  but  lick  the  chops  of  vicious 
memories  and  prick  his  ears  for  scandals  in 
which  he  could  not  share.  People  said,  "Old 
General  Pompe  is  really  too  bad,  but  where 

one  sees  the  Duke  of and  the  Prince  of 

we  may  be  sure  that  people  like  our- 
selves cannot  be  far  wrong." 

The  other  guests  comprised  Lord  Rolling- 
ton,  of  whom  there  was  nothing  to  be  said 


At  the  Clergy- House  79 

save  that  he  was  twenty -four  and  a  fool; 
Gerald  Duveen,  who  was  a  fat  man  of  good 
family,  and  more  or  less  of  a  success  upon  the 
stage;  and  his  beautiful,  bold-looking  wife, 
a  judge's  daughter,  who  played  under  the 
name  of  Miss  Mary  Home,  and  of  whom 
much  scandal  was  whispered. 

After  a  moment  or  two  in  the  palm  room, 
waiting  for  the  Duveens,  who  were  a  minute 
or  two  late,  the  six  people  went  in  to  lunch. 
The  special  table  General  Pompe  always  used 
was  reserved  for  them,  decorated  with  a 
triumphant  scheme  of  orchids  and  violets. 
Lumps  of  ice  were  hidden  among  the  masses 
of  flowers,  diffusing  an  admirable  coolness 
round  the  table. 

The  host  drew  attention  to  the  menu, 
which  he  had  composed.  He  mumbled  over 
it,  and  as  he  bent  his  head  Lucy  saw  that  his 
ears  were  quite  pointed,  and  that  the  skin 
upon  his  neck  lay  in  pachydermatous  folds, 
dry  and  yellowish. 

"Baked  red  snapper,  red  wine  sauce,"  said 
Mr.  Duveen,  with  the  purring  and  very  dis- 
tinct voice  of  high  comedy.  "Hm — turtle 
steaks  miroton — sweetbreads — Tadema,  quite 
the  best  way  to  do  sweetbreads." 

Mrs.  Duveen  was  talking  in  a  low,  rapid 


8o  A  Lost  Cause 

voice  to  Lady  Linquest.  Her  eyes  were  very 
bright,  and  malice  lurked  in  the  curves  of  a 
lovely  mouth  as  she  retailed  some  story  of 
iniquity  in  high  places,  one  of  these  private 
and  intimate  scandals  in  which  the  half -life 
of  the  stage  is  so  rich — actors  and  actresses 
more  than  most  people  being  able  to  see 
humanity  with  the  mask  off.  How  greedy 
the  three  men  looked,  Lucy  thought,  as  they 
devoured  the  lunch  in  prospect.  "Pigs! "  she 
said  to  herself  with  a  little  inward  shudder. 

Why  was  this  ?  She  had  been  at  dozens  of 
these  functions  before  now  and  had  thought 
none  of  these  thoughts.  To-day  a  veil  seemed 
removed  from  her  eyes :  she  saw  things  as  they 
really  were.  And  as  they  really  were,  these 
people  were  abominable. 

Any  of  them  would 

"  Buy  a  minute's  mirth  to  wail  a  week, 
And  sell  eternity  to  gain  a  toy." 

They  had  the  manners  of  organ-grinders 
and  the  morals  of  monkeys.  She  caught 
some  words  of  what  Mrs.  Duveen  was  saying 
now  and  again.  Lord  Rollington  began  to 
tell  her,  with  affected  disgust,  how  he  had 
been  at  a  burlesque  theatre  the  night  before, 
and  the  musical-comedy  heroine  of  the  hour 


At  the  Clergy-House  81 

had  been  so  intoxicated  that  she  could  hardly 
sing  her  song. 

"Too  bad,  you  know,  Miss  Blantyre.  I 
spotted  it  at  once.  It 's  always  disgustin'  to 
see  a  girl  take  too  much  to  drink,  but  when 
she's  caper  in'  about  the  stage  like  that  one 
really  has  a  right  to  complain.  Don't  you 
think  so?  Now,  if  it  had  been  a  poor  little 
chorus  girl,  she'd  have  been  fired  out  of  the 
theatre  in  a  second.  For  my  part,  I — "  and 
so  on  for  an  interminable  five  minutes. 

General  Pompe  began  to  flirt  with  Lucy  in 
that  elderly  "  you-are-only-a-little-girl "  sort 
of  manner,  that  is  so  difficult  to  repel  and 
which  is  so  offensive.  She  saw  his  horny  eyes 
roving  over  her  person  with  appreciation. 

A  great  many  of  Lady  Linquest's  particu- 
lar set  were  like  this.  Not  all  of  them,  thank 
goodness,  but  so  very  many!  And  the  worst 
of  it  was  that  society  mingled  and  overlapped 
so  strangely.  The  sheep  and  the  goats  were 
not  separated  in  any  way.  People  like  the 
Huddersfields  stood  almost  alone,  and  even 
Agatha,  when  she  was  with  the  St.  Justs — 
her  mother's  family — constantly  met  this 
sort  of  people.  But,  then,  Agatha  did  n?t 
seem  to  care,  she  did  n't  realise.  She  laughed 
at  everything  and  thought  it  "awfully  good 

6 


82  A  Lost  Cause 

fun."  In  fact,  Lucy  realised  Agatha  was  ex- 
actly the  same  as  she  herself  had  always  been 
— with  the  very  slightest  intervals — until  this 
moment.  It  was  startling  to  think  that  the 
words  of  Lord  Huddersfield's  son  had  worked 
this  revolution  in  her  point  of  view.  For  she 
was  quite  persuaded  that  they  were  the  reason 
of  it.  She  could  find  no  other  reason. 

She  did  not  realise  then,  as  she  was  to  real- 
ise with  humble  thankfulness  and  awe  in  the 
future,  the  august  influence  that  was  at  work 
within  her. 

She  was  not  gay  at  lunch.  Usually  she  was 
a  most  welcome  member  of  any  such  gather- 
ing as  this.  Her  sayings  were  pointed,  she 
entered  fully  into  the  spirit  of  the  hour,  her 
wit  adorned  the  charm  of  her  personality, 
and  she  was  universally  popular  and  voted 
"good  fun"  in  the  comprehensive  epitome 
of  her  associates.  This  was  the  highest 
praise  they  knew,  and  they  gave  it  her  with- 
out stint. 

To-day  the  party  fell  flat — there  was  no 
doubt  about  it.  The  radiance  of  the  early 
morning  had  given  place  to  a  heat  which  be- 
came terribly  oppressive,  and  the  sky  was 
overclouded.  Thunder  was  in  the  air,  and 
London  awaited  a  storm. 


At  the  Clergy-House  83 

The  electric  lights  began  to  glow  in  the 
restaurant. 

Lady  Linquest  did  her  best  to  rouse  her 
niece  to  gaiety,  but  her  efforts  were  futile. 
The  old  man  who  was  entertaining  them  grew 
sulky,  and  Lord  Rollington  drank  glass  after 
glass  of  champagne.  The  beautiful  actress  was 
frankly  bored,  and  became  more  cynical  and 
bitter  with  every  scandalous  story  she  told. 

Only  Mr.  Duveen  preserved  his  equanimity. 
He  ate  and  drank  and  purred  with  secure 
complaisance.  It  was  his  role  in  life.  Ever 
since  he  had  been  a  little  lick-trencher  fag  at 
Eton  he  had  been  thus.  It  was  said  by  his 
friends  in  society — after  his  back  was  turned 
— that  on  one  occasion,  having  discovered  the 

Earl  of kissing  his  wife,  he  had  murmured 

an  apology,  saying  that  he  had  come  to  find 
his  cigarette  case,  and  hurriedly  retired  from 
the  room.  This,  no  doubt,  was  scandal  and 
untrue,  but  it  showed  the  estimation  in  which 
he  was  generally  held. 

Lucy  knew  this  unpleasant  story — -Lady 
Linquest  had  told  her.  She  thought  of  it  as 
she  watched  the  man  pouring  mandarin  into 
his  coffee.  Once  more  she  felt  the  shrinking 
and  repulsion  that  had  come  over  her  more 
than  three  hours  ago. 


84  A  Lost  Cause 

She  knew,  or  once  had  known,  her  Dante. 
She  had  had  but  little  time  for  anything  but 
frothy  reading  during  the  last  year  or  two, 
but  once  she  had  kept  up  her  Italian.  A  pas- 
sage from  the  Inferno  came  into  her  brain 
now, — a.  long-forgotten  passage : 

"  Quest  i  non  hanno  speranza  di  morte, 

E  la  lor  cicca  vita  e  tanto  bassa 
Che  invidiosi  son  d'ogni  altra  sorte." 

She  saw  the  people  of  whom  the  Florentine 
spoke  before  her  now,  the  people  for  whom 
the  bitterest  fate  of  all  had  been  reserved, 
— these  who  "have  no  hope  of  death,  and 
whose  blind  life  so  meanly  drags  that  they 
are  envious  of  every  other  fate." 

Before  she  left  Park  Lane,  it  had  been 
arranged  that  the  small  brougham  should  call 
for  her  at  the  restaurant,  and  take  her  on  to 
Hornham.  Her  luggage  was  small.  This 
smart  society  girl  was  going  to  take  her 
plunge  into  the  great  London  Hinterland  with 
a  single  trunk,  like  any  little  governess  driving 
to  her  new  situation,  where  she  would  learn 
how  bitter  the  bread  of  another  may  taste, 
and  how  steep  are  the  stairs  in  the  house  of 
a  stranger. 

The  carriage  arrived  just  as  lunch  was  over, 


At  the  Clergy-House  85 

and  she  left  all  of  them  with  immeasurable 
relief. 

Driving  up  Shaftesbury  Avenue  to  find  her 
northward  route  was  like  driving  into  a 
black  curtain.  It  was  terribly  hot  and  dark, 
the  horses  were  uneasy,  and  the  people  mov- 
ing on  the  pavements  seemed  like  phantoms 
in  some  city  of  dreadful  night. 

London  began  to  grip  and  hold  her  then  as 
it  had  never  done  before.  Seen  under  this 
pall,  its  immensity  and  the  dignity  it  gained 
by  that  was  revealed  in  a  new  aspect.  Her 
London,  her  corner  of  the  town,  the  mere 
pleasure-city,  became  of  no  consequence,  its 
luxury,  its  parks  and  palaces,  shrank  and 
dwindled  to  nothing  in  her  consciousness. 

She  was  attuned  to  thoughts  more  solemn 
than  were  wont  to  have  their  way  with  her. 
Her  eyes  and  ears  were  opened  to  the  reality 
of  life. 

She  had  lost  her  dislike  for  the  visit  she 
was  going  to  pay.  Below  her  frequent  irrita- 
tion at  her  brother's  way  of  life  there  had 
always  been  a  strong  affection  for  him.  And 
more  than  that,  she  had  always  respected 
him,  though  often  enough  she  would  not  ad- 
mit it  even  to  herself.  As  the  brougham 
turned  into  the  surging  arcana  at  Islington 


86  A  Lost  Cause 

her  curiosity  about  the  next  few  days  was 
quickened:  the  thought  of  personal  discom- 
fort— discomfort  of  a  physical  kind — had 
quite  gone.  She  felt  that  she  was  about  to 
have  experience  of  something  new,  her  pulses 
quickened  to  it. 

The  vicarage  of  St.  Elwyn's  was  one  of 
those  stately  old  red-brick  houses,  enclosed  in 
a  walled  garden  of  not  inconsiderable  extent, 
that  are  still  to  be  found  here  and  there  in 
north  London.  They  date  from  the  florid 
Georgian  times,  when  that  part  was  a  spacious 
countryside  where  wealthy  merchants  with- 
drew from  commerce  in  the  evening  of  their 
days  and  lived  a  decorous  life  among  the  fields 
and  trees.  Here  and  there,  in  the  vast  over- 
grown and  congested  districts,  one  or  another 
of  these  old  freeholds  has  been  preserved 
inviolate — as  may  be  seen  in  the  ride  from 
Hackney  to  Edmonton — and  becomes  an 
alien  in  a  wilderness  of  mean  little  houses  and 
vulgar  streets. 

Father  Blantyre  had  bought  one  of  these 
few  remaining  mansions  in  Hornham,  at  a 
high  price,  and  had  presented  it  to  the  parish 
of  St.  Elwyn's  as  its  vicarage.  Here  he  lived 
with  his  two  curates  and  a  staff  of  four  ser- 
vants,— a  housekeeper,  two  maids,  and  a  man- 


At  the  Clergy-House  87 

of -all-work.  The  personal  wants  of  the  three 
clergymen  were  very  simple,  but  the  servants 
were  useful  in  many  parochial  affairs.  In 
times  when  work  was  scarce,  the  vicarage 
staff  boiled  soup,  like  any  cheap  restaurant- 
keeper.  The  house  was  open  at  all  times  of 
the  day  or  night  to  people  who  wanted  to  be 
quiet  and  alone  for  a  time;  social  clubs  and 
guilds  had  their  headquarters  there. 

Indeed,  the  place  was  the  centre  of  a  di- 
versified and  complex  life — how  complex, 
neither  Lucy,  nor  any  outsider,  had  the  least 
conception. 

The  carriage  stopped  at  the  heavy  square 
porch  with  its  flight  of  steps,  and  the  footman 
ran  up  them  and  rang  the  bell. 

Lucy  noticed  with  amusement  that  the  man '  s 
face  expressed  a  mild  wonder  at  the  neighbour- 
hood in  which  he  found  himself,  and  that  he 
winked  solemnly  at  the  coachman  on  his  box. 

Lucy  stood  on  the  steps  for  a  moment. 
The  sky  was  quite  dark,  and  the  little  side 
street  in  which  she  was,  showed  in  a  dim  and 
sulphurous  half-light — like  the  light  round  the 
House  of  Usher.  A  piano-organ  close  by  was 
beating  out  its  vibrant  mechanical  music  with 
an  incongruous  and  almost  vulgar  disregard 
of  the  menace  of  the  heavens. 


88  A  Lost  Cause 

The  housekeeper  opened  the  front  door, 
and  Lucy  entered  a  big  panelled  hall,  now  in 
a  gloom  that  was  almost  profound,  and  with 
a  tiled  floor  that  clicked  and  echoed  as  the 
high  heels  of  her  shoes  struck  upon  it. 

"The  vicar  is  in  his  study,  Miss,"  the 
housekeeper  said.  She  was  a  tall,  gaunt, 
elderly  woman,  with  a  face  that  always  re- 
minded Lucy  of  a  horse,  and  her  voice  was 
dry  and  hesitating. 

Lucy  crossed  the  hall,  opened  a  door  of  oak 
and  another  of  green  baize,  and  entered  her 
brother's  room. 

It  was  a  large,  lofty  place.  The  walls  were 
covered  with  books  in  sober  bindings, — there 
must  have  been  several  thousands  there.  A 
soft  carpet  covered  the  floor,  in  the  centre 
of  which  stood  an  enormous  writing-table 
crowded  with  books  and  papers. 

Hardly  any  light  came  into  the  place 
through  the  long  window,  and  two  candles  in 
massive  silver  holders  stood  upon  the  writing- 
table,  throwing  a  soft  radiance  around. 

The  light  fell  upon  a  tall  crucifix  of  silver 
that  stood  upon  the  table,  a  beautiful  speci- 
men of  English  Pre-Reformation  work.  A 
small  couch  had  been  drawn  up  close  to  the 
table,  and  on  it  the  priest  lay  asleep.  The 


At  the  Clergy-House  89 

face  was  lined  and  drawn  with  worry  and  with 
work,  and  all  its  secrets  were  told  as  the  man 
slept.  One  hand  lay  hanging  from  the  side  of 
the  sofa — a  lean,  strong  hand,  with  a  coil 
of  muscle  upon  the  back.  Seen  thus  in 
an  abandonment  of  repose,  Lucy's  brother 
showed  as  a  man  worn  and  weary  with  battle, 
scarred  and  battered,  bruised,  but  how  irre- 
vocably rich! 

A  rush  of  tenderness  came  over  the  girl  as 
she  looked  at  him.  Here  was  the  man  who 
had  not  winced  or  cried  aloud,  whose  spirit 
was  unbowed  beneath  the  bludgeonings  of 
life. 

A  high  serenity  lay  over  the  pain  upon  the 
face.  It  was  a  face  vowed,  a  saint's  face,  and 
even  as  he  slept  the  great  soul  which  shone 
like  a  monstrance  within  him,  irradiated  the 
mask  that  hid  it. 

Lucy  saw  all  this,  received  some  such  im- 
pressions as  those  in  two  or  three  moments. 
Some  attraction  drew  her  eyes  from  the  sleeper 
to  the  shining  symbol  of  God's  pain  upon  the 
table.  Then  they  went  back  to  Bernard 
Blantyre.  To  her  excited  fancy  there  seemed 
some  subtle  sympathy  between  them,  an  in- 
visible shuttle  that  was  flying  to  and  fro. 

Then  Blantyre  awoke  and  saw  her.     He 


QO  A  Lost  Cause 

did  not  come  from  the  kingdom  of  sleep 
gradually,  as  most  people  do,  loath  to  leave 
those  silent  halls.  He  sprang  suddenly  into 
full  consciousness,  as  soldiers  upon  fields  of 
battle,  as  old  veterans  used  to  sudden  drums 
and  tramplings  are  known  to  do. 

His  eyes  lighted  up  with  merriment  and  tri- 
umph, his  mobile  face  was  one  great  smile.  He 
caught  her  by  the  arms  and  kissed  her  repeat- 
edly. "It's  splendid  to  have  you  again,  me 
darling,"  he  said,  with  a  slight  Irish  accent 
that  came  to  both  of  them  when  they  were 
excited.  "Ye  little  wretch,  staying  away  so 
long!  Why,  ye 're  prettier  than  ever!  Ye '11 
have  all  the  Hornham  boys  waiting  for  ye 
outside  the  church  door  after  Mass,  for  we 
don't  see  your  sort  down  our  humble  way — 
the  rale  West  End  product!" 

Laughing  and  chattering,  putting  on  the 
most  exaggerated  brogue,  the  brother  and 
sister  moved  out  into  the  hall.  Father  Blan- 
tyre  called  loudly,  "King!  Stephens!  where 
are  ye?  she's  come! — I  don't  know  where  my 
boys  are  at  all,  mavourneen — We  '11  dress  um 
down  for  not  being  in  to  welcome  the  new 
clergywoman.  Now,  come  up  to  your  room, 
sweetheart,  and  Bob '11  bring  your  box  up. 
Bob!  bring  me  sister's  trunk  up-stairs." 


At  the  Clergy-House  91 

The  little  man  ran  up  the  wide  stairway, 
an  odd,  active  figure  in  his  black  cassock, 
laughing  and  shouting  in  an  ecstasy  of  pleas- 
ure and  excitement.  No  schoolboy  could 
have  been  more  merry,  more  full  of  simple 

joy. 

Lu9y  followed  him,  half  laughing,  half  in- 
clined to  sob  at  this  happy  welcome.  She 
was  carried  off  her  feet  by  it  all,  by  this 
strange  arrival  under  lurid  skies  at  the  dingy 
old  house  which  suddenly  seemed  so  home- 
like. 

Reproach  filled  her  heart  at  her  long  neg- 
lect as  she  heard  her  brother's  joy.  Sim- 
plicity!— yes,  that  was  it.  He  was  utterly 
simple.  The  thought  of  the  people  she  had 
left  so  short  a  time  ago  was  more  odious  than 
ever. 

She  found  herself  alone  in  her  bedroom,  a 
big,  gloomy  place  with  solid  mahogany  furni- 
ture in  the  old  style.  There  was  nothing 
modern  there  save  a  little  prie-dieu  of  oak 
by  the  bedside.  But  the  sober  colours  and 
outmoded  massiveness  of  it  all  no  longer 
troubled  her.  She  did  not  give  a  single 
thought  to  her  own  luxurious  nest  in  Park 
Lane — as  she  had  done  so  often  during  her 
first  visit  to  St.  Elwyn's  a  year  ago. 


92  A  Lost  Cause 

When  she  went  down-stairs  once  more,  both 
the  assistant  priests  had  come  in  and  were 
waiting  with  the  vicar  in  the  study,  where 
some  tea  was  presently  brought. 

Stephens  was  a  tall,  youthful-looking  man, 
rather  slangy  perhaps,  with  a  good  deal  of  the 
undergraduate  about  him  still,  but  obviously 
in  earnest.  King  was  square-faced ;  the  clean- 
shaved  jaw  showed  powerful  and  had  a  flavour 
of  the  prize-fighter  about  it,  while  his  general 
expression  was  grim  and  somewhat  forbid- 
ding. He  was  much  the  elder  of  the  two. 
His  expression,  the  outward  shell,  was  no  in- 
dex to  the  man  within.  A  tenderer  heart 
never  beat  in  a  man ;  a  person  more  tempera- 
mentally kind  never  lived.  But  he  had  more 
capacity  for  anger,  righteous  anger,  than 
either  the  vicar  or  Stephens.  There  were  mo- 
ments when  he  could  be  terrible,  and  some 
savage  strain  in  him  leaped  to  the  surface  and 
was  only  curbed  by  a  will  which  had  long 
been  sanctified  to  good. 

The  two  men  seemed  glad  to  see  Lucy 
again.  She  had  seen  little  of  them  on  her  first 
visit;  neither  of  them  had  made  any  impres- 
sion on  her.  Now  they  interested  her  at  once. 

"Now,  then,  Bernard,"  Lucy  said  as  she 
began  to  pour  out  the  tea,  "what  is  all  this 


At  the  Clergy-House  93 

I  hear  about  a  scene  in  church?  Lord  Hud- 
dersfield  was  full  of  it.  He  was  most  dis- 
tressed." 

"He  has  been  awfully  good  about  it," 
Blantyre  said.  "He  was  down  here  on  Tues- 
day morning  going  into  the  matter.  A  man 
named  Hamlyn,  the  editor  of  a  little  local 
paper,  threw  the  church  into  a  miserable 
state  of  confusion  during  Mass  last  Sunday, 
just  after  I  had  said  the  Prayer  of  Consecra- 
tion. He  read  a  document  protesting  against 
the  Blessed  Sacrament.  We  had  him  ejected, 
and  yesterday  he  was  fined  ten  shillings  in  the 
local  police  court.  The  magistrate,  who  is  a 
pronounced  Protestant  in  his  sympathies, 
said  that  though  the  defendant  had  doubtless 
acted  with  the  best  intentions,  one  must  not 
combat  one  illegality  with  another,  and  that 
the  law  provided  methods  for  the  regulation 
of  worship  other  than  protests  during  its 
process!" 

"Pompous  old  ass!"  said  Stephens. 

"Well,  I  'm  glad  they  fined  him,"  Lucy  said. 

"  '  All 's  well  that  ends  well ! '  You  won't 
have  the  services  disturbed  again." 

"On  the  contrary,  dear,  we  are  all  very 
much  afraid  that  this  is  the  first  spark  of  a 
big  fire.  We  hear  rumours  of  an  organised 


94  A  Lost  Cause 

movement  which  may  be  widely  taken  up  by 
the  enemies  of  the  Church.  All  through  the 
ranks  there's  a  feeling  of  uneasiness.  Lord 
Huddersfield  is  working  night  and  day  to 
warn  the  clergy  and  prepare  them.  We  can- 
not say  how  it  will  end." 

He  spoke  with  gravity  and  seriousness. 
Lucy,  who  privately  thought  the  whole  thing 
a  ridiculous  storm  in  a  teacup,  and  was  utterly 
ignorant  of  the  points  at  issue,  looked  sym- 
pathetic, but  said  nothing.  She  was  not  in 
a  flippant  mood ;  she  realised  she  was  quite  an 
outsider  in  the  matter,  which  seemed  so  mo- 
mentous to  the  three  intelligent  men  she  was 
with,  and,  unwilling  to  betray  her  lack  of 
comprehension  or  to  say  anything  that  would 
jar,  she  kept  a  discreet  silence. 

"We  all  get  shouted  after  already,  when 
we  go  into  the  worst  parts  of  the  parish,"  said 
Stephens  cheerfully.  "They've  been  rousing 
the  hooligan  element.  It's  an  old  trick. 
Lazy  bounders,  who  don't  know  a  Christian 
from  a  Jew  and  have  never  been  in  a  church 
in  their  lives,  shout  '  papist '  after  us  as  we 
go  into  the  houses.  Just  before  I  came  in,  I 
was  walking  up  the  street  when  a  small  and 
very  filthy  urchin  put  his  head  round  the 
corner  of  a  house  and  squeaked  out,  'Oo 


At  the  Clergy- House  95 

kissed  ve  Pope's  toe?'  Then  he  turned  and 
ran  for  dear  life.  As  yet,  I  have  n't  been 
assaulted,  but  King  has!  Have  n't  you, 
King?" 

Mr.  King  looked  rather  like  a  bashful  bull- 
dog, and  endeavoured  to  change  the  subject. 

"Do  you  mean  any  one  actually  struck 
you,  Mr.  King?"  Lucy  said,  absolutely  be- 
wildered. "How  awful!  But  why  should 
any  one  want  to  do  that?" 

The  vicar  broke  in  with  a  broad  grin  that 
made  his  likeness  to  a  comedian  more  appar- 
ent than  ever. 

"Oh,  King  was  splendid!"  he  said  with  a 
chuckle.  "That  ended  very  well.  A  big 
navvy  chap  was  coming  out  of  a  public-house 
just  as  King  was  passing.  He  looked  round 
at  his  friends  and  called  out  something  to  the 
effect  that  here  was  another  monkey  in  pet- 
ticoats— we  wear  our  cassocks  in  the  streets 
— and  see  how  he'd  do  for  urn!  So  he  gave 
poor  King  a  clout  on  the  side  of  the  head." 

"Oh,  I  am  sorry,"  Lucy  said,  looking  with 
interest  upon  the  priest,  and  realising  dimly 
that  to  be  a  clergyman  in  Hornham  appar- 
ently ranked  as  one  of  the  dangerous  trades. 
"What  did  you  do,  Mr.  King?" 

King  flushed  a  little  and  looked  singularly 


96  A  Lost  Cause 

foolish.  He  was  a  bashful  man  with  ladies, 
— they  did  not  come  much  into  his  pastoral 
way. 

Lucy  thought  that  the  poor  fellow  had 
probably  run  away  and  wished  that  she  had 
not  asked  such  an  awkward  question. 

"Oh,  he  won't  tell  ye,  my  dear!"  Blantyre 
said,  "but  I  will.  When  the  gentleman 
smacked  um  on  the  cheek,  he  turned  the 
other  to  him  and  kept 's  hands  behind 's  back. 
Then  the  hero  smacked  that  cheek  too. 
'Hurroo!'  says  King,  or  words  to  that  effect, 
'now  I've  fulfilled  me  duty  to  me  religion 
and  kept  to  the  words  of  Scripture.  And 
now,  me  friend,  I'm  going  to  do  me  duty  to 
me  neighbour  and  thrash  ye  till  ye  can't  see 
out  of  your  eyes.'  With  that  he  stepped  up 
to  um  and  knocked  um  down,  and  when  he 
got  up,  he  knocked  um  down  again!" 

Mr.  King  fidgeted  uneasily  in  his  seat.  ' '  I 
thought  it  was  the  wisest  thing  to  do,"  he 
said,  apologetically.  "  You  see,  it  would  stop 
anything  of  the  sort  for  the  future! " 

"And  the  fun  of  the  whole  thing,  Miss 
Blantyre,"  Stephens  broke  in,  "was  that  I 
came  along  soon  after  and  found  the  poor 
wretch  senseless — King's  got  a  fist  like  a 
hammer.  So  we  got  him  up  and  refused  to 


At  the  Clergy-House  97 

charge  him  to  the  policeman  who  turned  up 
after  it  was  all  over,  and  we  brought  him 
here.  We  sponged  him  and  mended  him  and 
fed  him,  and  he  turned  out  no  end  of  a  good 
sort  when  the  drink  was  out  of  him.  Poor 
chap  gets  work  when  he  can,  has  n't  a  friend 
in  the  world ;  had  n't  any  clothes  or  posses- 
sions but  what  he  stood  up  in,  and  was  utterly 
a  waster  and  uncared  for.  We  asked  him  if 
he  knew  what  a  papist  was,  and  found  he 
had  n't  an  idea,  only  he  thought  that  they 
made  love  to  workingmen's  wives  when  their 
husbands  were  at  work!  He'd  been  listen- 
ing to  our  friend,  Mr.  Hamlyn,  who  called  a 
mass-meeting  after  the  police-court  proceed- 
ings and  lectured  on  the  three  men  of  sin  at 
the  vicarage!" 

A  flood  of  strange  and  startling  ideas 
poured  into  the  girl's  brain.  A  new  side  of 
life,  a  fourth  dimension,  was  beginning  to  be 
revealed  to  her.  She  looked  wonderingly  at 
the  three  men  in  their  long  cassocks;  she  felt 
she  was  in  the  presence  of  power.  She  had 
felt  that  when  James  Poyntz  was  talking  to 
her  in  the  train,  in  the  fresh,  sunlit  morning, 
which  seemed  a  thing  of  the  remotest  past  now. 
Yet  this  afternoon  she  felt  it  more  poignantly 
than  before.  Things  were  going  on  down 


98  A  Lost  Cause 

here,  in  this  odd  corner  of  London,  that  were 
startling  in  their  newness. 

"And  what  happened  to  the  poor  man?" 
she  said  at  length. 

"Oh,"  answered  the  vicar,  "very  fortun- 
ately we  are  without  a  man  of  all  work  just 
now,  so  we  took  him  on.  He  carried  your 
trunk  up-stairs.  He 's  wearing  Stephen's  trou- 
sers, which  are  much  too  tight  for  um!  and 
an  old  flannel  tennis  coat  of  King's — till  we 
can  get  his  new  clothes  made.  He  was  in 
rags!" 

"But  surely  that 's  rather  risky,"  Lucy  said 
in  some  alarm.  "And  what  about  the  other 
servants  ?  I  should  n't  think  Miss  Cass  liked 
it  much!" 

Miss  Cass  was  the  housekeeper,  the  woman 
with  the  face  like  a  horse.  She  always  repelled 
Lucy,  who,  for  no  reason  than  the  old,  stupid 
"Dr.  Fell"  reason,  disliked  her  heartily. 

To  her  great  surprise,  she  saw  three  faces 
turned  towards  her  suddenly.  On  each  was 
an  expression  of  blank  surprise,  exactly  the 
same  expression.  Lucy  wanted  to  laugh ;  the 
three  men  were  as  alike  as  children  are  when 
a  conjuror  has  just  made  the  pudding  in  the 
hat  or  triumphantly  demonstrated  the  dis- 
appearing egg. 


At  the  Clergy-House  99 

The  taciturn  King  spoke  first.  "I  forgot," 
he  said;  "of  course  you  don't  know  anything 
about  Miss  Cass.  How  should  you,  indeed! 
Miss  Cass  is  a  saint." 

He  said  it  quite  simply,  with  a  little  pride, 
possibly,  that  the  vicarage  which  housed  him 
housed  a  saint,  too,  but  that  was  all. 

"Yes,"  the  vicar  said,  his  brogue  dropping 
away  from  him,  as  it  always  did  when  he  was 
serious,  "Miss  Cass  is  a  saint.  I'll  tell  you 
her  story  some  time  while  you're  here,  dear. 
It  is  a  noble  story.  But  don't  you  be  alarmed 
about  our  new  importation.  Bob  will  be  all 
right.  We  know  what  we  are  doing  here." 

"It's  wonderful,  Miss  Blantyre,"  Stephens 
broke  out,  his  boyish  face  all  lighted  up  with 
enthusiasm.  "You  know,  Bob  'd  actually 
never  been  in  church  before  yesterday  morn- 
ing, when  he  came  to  Mass." 

He  stopped  for  a  moment,  out  of  breath  in 
his  eagerness.  Lucy  saw  that  he — indeed,  all 
of  them — took  it  quite  for  granted  that  these 
things  they  spoke  of  had  supreme  interest  for 
her  as  for  them.  There  was  such  absolute 
conviction  that  these  things  were  the  only 
important  things,  that  no  excuse  or  apology 
was  necessary  in  speaking  of  them.  She 
found  she  liked  that,  she  liked  it  already. 


ioo  A  Lost  Cause 

There  was  a  magnetism  in  these  men  that 
drew  her  within  their  circle.  She  saw  that, 
whatever  else  they  were,  they  were  absolutely 
consistent.  They  did  not  have  one  eye  on 
convention  and  the  world,  like  the  West  End 
clergymen  she  knew, — some  of  them  at  least. 
These  men  lived  for  one  aim,  one  end,  with 
tremendous  force  and  purpose.  They  simply 
disregarded  everything  else.  Nothing  else 
occurred!  Yes,  this  was  a  fourth  dimension 
indeed.  She  bent  herself  to  listen  to  the  boy's 
story,  marking,  with  a  pleasure  that  had 
something  maternal  in  it,  the  vividness  and 
reality  of  his  interest  and  hopes. 

"Before  he  went,"  the  young  man  said,  "I 
explained  the  Church's  teaching  exactly  to 
him.  Don't  forget  that  the  poor  chap  had  n't 
the  slightest  idea  of  anything  of  the  sort. 
He  was  astounded.  A  mystery  that  I  could 
not  explain  to  him,  a  mystery  for  which  there 
were  no  material  evidences  at  all,  came  home 
to  him  at  once.  /  saw  faith  born.  And  they  say 
this  is  not  an  age  of  miracles!  Think  of  the 
tremendous  revolution  in  the  man's  mind. 
He  talked  to  me  after  the  service.  It  was  all 
wonderfully  real  to  him.  He  was  absolutely 
convinced  of  the  coming  of  our  Lord.  There 
is  n't  a  rationalist  in  London  that  could  shake 


At  the  Clergy-House  101 

the  man's  belief.  I  asked  him  why  he  was 
so  sure — was  it  merely  because  I  had  told 
him,  because  I  believed  in  it?  His  answer  was 
singularly  touching.  'Nah,'  he  said,  scratch- 
ing his  head, — they  all  do  when  they  try  to 
think, — '  It  was  n't  wot  you  said,  guvnor,  it 
was  wot  I  felt.  I  knowed  as  'E  wos  there. 
Why,  I  ses  to  myself,  It  's  true! ' ' 

"It  is  very  wonderful,"  Lucy  said.  "It's 
more  wonderful  by  far  than  a  man  at  a  Sal- 
vation Army  meeting  or  a  revival.  One  can 
understand  that  the  sudden  shouts  and  the 
trumpets  and  banners  and  things  would  in- 
fluence any  one.  But  that  a  service  which  is 
inexplicable  even  to  the  people  who  conduct 
it  should  influence  this  poor  uneducated  man 
is  strange." 

"Now,  I  don't  think  it  strange,  Lucy,  dear," 
the  vicar  said;  "it's  far  more  natural  to  me 
than  the  other.  The  wonderful  power  of  the 
Church  lies  in  this,  that  her  mysteries  appeal 
to  quite  simple  people  whose  minds  are  a  blank 
on  religious  questions.  They  appeal  to  the 
simple  instantly  and  triumphantly.  They  feel 
the  power  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament.  And 
only  Catholicism  can  do  this  in  full  and  satis- 
fying measure.  We  find  that  over  and  over 
again.  The  jam-and-glory  teas,  the  kiss-in- 


102  A  Lost  Cause 

the-ring  revivals,  have  a  momentary  and  hys- 
terical influence  with  the  irreligious.  But  it 
does  n't  last,  there  is  no  system  or  discipline, 
and  above  all,  there  is  no  dignity.  Only 
priests  realise  thoroughly  how  the  poorer  and 
less-educated  classes  crave  for  the  proper  dig- 
nity and  beauty  of  worship.  It  has  always 
been  so.  It  is  the  secret  of  the  power  that 
the  Roman  Church  has  over  the  minds  of 
men." 

"Then  why  are  there  so  many  Salvationists 
and  Dissenters?"  Lucy  asked. 

"For  a  multitude  of  reasons.  A  dislike  to 
discipline  chiefly.  People  don't  go  to  church 
because  the  novelties  of  thirty  or  forty  years 
ago  have  filtered  down  into  the  omnibuses 
and  people  who  are  naturally  irreligious  pre- 
fer to  make  a  comfortable  little  code  for 
themselves.  The  Church  says  you  must  not 
do  this  or  that;  its  rules  are  thoroughly  well 
defined.  Folk  are  afraid  to  come  as  near  to 
God  as  the  Church  brings  them.  Their  cry 
is  always  that  the  Church  comes  between 
them  and  God.  Often  that  is  a  malevolent 
cry,  and  more  often  still  it's  pure  ignorance. 
The  silly  people  have  n't  an  idea  what  they  're 
talking  about.  It  would  be  just  as  reason- 
able for  me  to  say,  'I  hate  and  abominate 


At  the  Clergy-House  103 

Nicaragua,  which  is  a  pernicious  and  soul- 
destroying  place,'  when  I've  never  been 
nearer  to  Nicaragua  than  Penzance." 

"There  is  one  thing  that  we  do  see,"  King 
continued  in  his  slow,  powerful  way.  "When- 
ever we  have  open-minded  men  or  women 
come  to  church  to  pray  and  find  help,  they 
find  it.  Dozens  and  dozens  of  people  have 
come  to  me  after  they  have  become  members 
of  the  Church  and  said  that  they  could  not 
understand  the  anti-Church  nonsense  they 
themselves  had  joined  in  before.  'We  never 
knew,1  that  is  the  cry  always." 

"The  thunder's  beginning!"  Father  Blan- 
tyre  said  suddenly,  realising  apparently  that 
the  talk  was  straying  into  channels  somewhat 
alien  to  a  young  society  lady  presiding  at 
afternoon  tea. 

"Lucy,  me  dear,  it's  tired  you'll  be  of  sit- 
ting with  three  blathering  old  priests  talking 
shop  in  a  thunderstorm — there's  a  flash  for 
ye!" 

A  sheet  of  brilliant  steel-blue  had  flashed 
into  the  room  as  he  spoke,  showing  every 
detail  of  it  clear  and  distinct  as  in  some 
lurid  day  of  the  underworld.  The  books,  the 
writing  table,  the  faces  of  the  three  clergy- 
men, and  the  tall  silver  crucifix  between  the 


104  A  Lost  Cause 

candles,  which  had  momentarily  faded  to  a 
dull  and  muddy  yellow,  all  made  a  sudden 
tableau  which  burned  itself  upon  the  retina. 
Then  came  darkness  once  more  and  the  giant 
stammer  of  the  thunder  far  overhead. 

The  thunder  ceased  and  they  waited,  ex- 
pectant of  the  next  explosion,  when  the  pene- 
trating and  regular  beating  of  an  adjacent 
bell  was  heard. 

"There's  the  bell  for  evensong!"  Blantyre 
said;  "I  did  not  know  it  was  so  late."  He 
put  on  his  berretta  and  left  the  room,  the 
other  men  following  him.  Lucy  rose  also.  She 
felt  that  she  would  make  one  of  them,  and 
going  up-stairs  to  get  a  hat,  she  presently 
found  herself  in  the  long,  covered  passage  that 
connected  the  vicarage  with  the  church. 

The  idea  of  a  house  which  was  but  an  ap- 
panage of  the  church  was  new  to  her.  The 
passage  had  been  built  since  her  last  visit. 
And  as  she  entered  the  huge,  dim  building, 
she  saw  clearly  how  powerful  in  the  minds 
of  her  brother  and  his  friends  its  nearness 
must  be.  All  their  life,  their  whole  life, 
centred  in  this  church.  Its  services  were  as 
frequent  and  natural  as  their  daily  food.  How 
strangely  different  it  all  was  to  the  life  of  the 
outside  world!  She  herself  had  not  been  to 


At  the  Clergy-House  105 

church  for  six  weeks  or  more.  Even  people 
who  "called  themselves  Christians"  only  en- 
tered a  pew  and  enjoyed  a  hebdomadal  siesta 
in  church.  But  these  men  could  not  get  on 
without  it.  Every  thought  and  action  was  in 
communion  with  the  Unseen.  And  she  was 
forced  to  acknowledge  it  to  herself, — if  one 
actually  did  believe  in  a  future  life,  in  eter- 
nity, then  this  was  the  only  logical  way  in 
which  to  prepare  for  it.  If  life  was  really 
like  a  sojourn  of  one  night  in  an  inn,  then  the 
traveller  who  made  no  preparation  for  the 
journey,  and  spent  the  night  in  careless  dis- 
regard of  the  day,  was  an  utter  fool.  But 
no  one  called  worldly  people  fools! — it  was 
all  very  puzzling  and  worrying,  and  common- 
sense  did  not  seem  like  common-sense  in 
Hornham. 

And  was  James  Poyntz  a  fool  ? 

It  was  the  last  question  she  asked  herself 
as  she  turned  into  the  side  chapel  where  even- 
song was  to  be  said.  Some  twenty  kneeling 
figures  were  there.  The  place  was  dimly 
lighted  save  for  the  tall  gas  standards  by  the 
priests'  seats  in  front  of  the  altar. 

High  up  before  the  painted  reredos  hung  a 
single  lamp  that  burned  with  a  dull  red  glow. 
There  were  many  sick  folk  in  the  parish  of  St. 


106  A  Lost  Cause 

Elwyn's:  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and  night, 
the  clergy  were  sent  for  to  help  a  departing 
soul  upon  its  way  hence,  and  the  Blessed 
Sacrament  was  reserved  upon  this  altar  in 
the  side  chapel. 

The  simple  and  stately  service  was  nearly 
over.  The  girl  had  listened  to  the  sonorous 
words  as  if  she  heard  them  now  for  the  first 
time.  As  she  knelt,  her  heart  seemed  empty 
of  the  hopes,  fears,  and  interests  of  daily  life. 
It  seemed  as  a  vessel  into  which  something 
was  steadily  flowing.  And  the  fancy  came 
to  her  that  all  she  experienced  was  flowing  to 
her  from  the  dim  tabernacle  upon  the  altar. 
It  was  almost  a  physical  sense,  it  was  full  of 
awe  and  sweetness.  She  trembled  exceedingly 
as  the  service  ended  and  her  brother  prayed 
for  the  fellowship  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

For  a  time  after  the  echoing  footsteps  of 
the  clergy  had  died  away,  she  remained  upon 
her  knees.  She  was  praying,  but  without 
words;  all  her  thoughts  were  caught  up  into 
one  voiceless,  wordless,  passionate  ejaculation. 

When  at  length  she  bowed  low, — it  was  the 
first  time  she  had  ever  done  such  a  thing, — 
before  the  altar,  and  left  the  church,  it  was 
by  the  west  door. 


At  the  Clergy- House  107 

She  had  a  fancy  for  the  street,  and  she 
found  that  the  thunder  had  all  passed  away 
and  that  a  painted  summer's  evening  sky 
hung  over  the  garish  town. 

As  she  finally  turned  into  the  vicarage,  she 
cast  one  look  back  at  the  church.  It  rose 
among  the  houses  high  into  the  air.  The 
sunset  fired  the  wet  tiles  of  the  roof  and 
gilded  the  cross  upon  the  lantern.  She 
thought  of  That  which  was  within. 


CHAPTER  V 

WEALTHY    MISS    PRITCHETT    AND    POOR    GUSSIE 
DA  VIES    ENTER   THE    VICARAGE    GARDEN 

"TTODGERS,"  Mr.  Stephens  remarked  to 

*  Lucy,  as  they  went  down  into  the 
garden  after  lunch  on  Saturday,  "could  do 
it  when  it  chose." 

The  last  preparations  for  the  garden  party 
were  being  made.  The  big  marquee  was 
erected,  the  tennis  lawns  were  newly  marked, 
there  was  a  small  stand  for  the  string  band. 

Waiters,  looking  oddly  out  of  their  element 
in  the  brilliant  sunshine,  which  showed  dress- 
coats,  serviceable  enough  at  night,  tinged 
with  a  metallic  green  like  a  magpie's  wing, 
were  moving  about  with  baskets  of  straw- 
berries and  zinc  boxes  of  ice. 

The  old-fashioned  garden,  an  oasis  in  the 
wilderness  of  brick  all  around,  was  brilliant 
with  sunflowers,  stocks,  and  geraniums;  the 
lawns  were  fresh  and  green.  The  curate  was 
in  tennis  flannels  and  an  Oxford  blazer,  and 
Lucy  meditated  upon  the  influence  of  clothes, 

108 


The  Vicarage  Garden  109 

as  her  betters  had  done  before  her.  Stephens 
seemed  to  have  put  off  his  priesthood  with 
his  tippet  and  cassock,  and  the  jaunty  cap 
covered  a  head  which  seemed  as  if  it  had 
never  worn  a  berretta.  Lucy  found,  to  her 
own  surprise,  that  she  liked  the  man  less,  so. 
It  was  a  total  inversion  of  her  ordinary  ideas. 
She  began  to  think  that  a  priest  should  be 
robed  always. 

Miss  Cass,  the  housekeeper,  in  a  new  cap, 
came  up  to  them.  Lucy  had  talked  to  the 
woman  for  more  than  an  hour  on  Friday 
afternoon,  and  the  prejudice  caused  by  her 
appearance  was  removed. 

"I  hope  everything  is  satisfactory,  Miss," 
she  said.  "It  all  seems  to  be  going  on  well. 
The  men  from  Whiteley 's  know  their  business. ' ' 

"It  all  seems  splendid,  Miss  Cass,"  Lucy 
said.  "  I  'm  sure  it  could  n't  be  better.  Have 
the  band  people  come?" 

"Yes,  Miss,  and  the  piano-entertainer  too. 
They're  having  some  refreshment  in  the  li- 
brary. His  Reverence  is  telling  them  funny 
stories,  Miss." 

She  hurried  away  to  superintend  further 
arrangements . 

"The  vicar  is  always  so  fine,"  the  young 
man  said,  with  a  delighted  enthusiasm  in  his 


no  A  Lost  Cause 

chief  that  was  always  pleasant  for  Lucy  to 
hear.  "He  gets  on  with  men  so  well;  such  a 
lot  of  parsons  don't.  There 's  nothing  effem- 
inate about  the  vicar.  He's  a  man's  man. 
I  '11  bet  every  one  of  those  fellows  in  there  will 
go  away  feeling-  they've  made  a  friend,  and 
that  parsons  are  n't  such  scalawags  after  all." 

A  burst  of  laughter  came  from  the  door 
leading  into  the  garden,  as  if  to  confirm  his 
words,  and  Father  Blantyre  descended  the 
steps  with  a  little  knot  of  men  dressed  in 
something  between  livery  and  uniform,  carry- 
ing oddly  shaped  cases  of  black  waterproof  in 
their  hands. 

Laughing  and  joking,  the  men  made  their 
way  towards  the  music  stands. 

The  vicar  came  up  to  Lucy.  "How  will  it 
'do  ? "  he  said.  ' '  It  seems  all  right.  Just  walk 
round  with  me,  my  dear,  and  I'll  give  ye  a 
few  tips  how  to  play  hostess  in  Hornham." 

They  strolled  away  together.  "Now,  ye '11 
be  careful,  won't  ye,  mavourneen?"  he  said 
rather  anxiously.  "The  folk  coming  this 
afternoon  require  more  management  and  tact 
than  any  I've  ever  met.  They'll  all  have 
what  they  think  is  the  high  society  manner — 
and  ye  must  n't  laugh  at  um,  poor  dears.  I 
love  'em  all,  and  I  won't  have  you  making 


The  Vicarage  Garden  1 1 1 

fun  of  them.  I  like  them  better  in  church 
than  in  society,  I'm  quite  free  to  admit  to 
you,  and  their  souls  are  more  interesting  than 
their  bodies!  Perhaps  half  a  dozen  people 
here  this  afternoon  will  be  what  you'd  call 
gentlefolk — the  doctor,  Dr.  Hibbert,  and  a 
few  others.  The  rest  of  them  will  be  fear- 
fully genteel.  The  young  gentlemen  will  be 
back  early  from  the  city,  and  they  '11  come  in 
flannels  and  wear  public-school  ribbons  round 
their  hats,  roses  in  their  button-holes  and 
crimson  silk  cummerbunds!" 

"Good  heavens!"  Lucy  said. 

"Yes,  and  they'll  all  want  to  flirt  with  ye, 
in  a  very  superfine,  polite  sort  of  way,  and 
mind  ye  let  um!  They'll  ask  if  they  might 
'assist  you  to  a  little  claret  cup,'  and  say  all 
sorts  of  strange  things.  But  they're  good 
enough  at  heart,  only  they  will  be  so  polite! " 

"And  the  women?" 

Father  Blantyre  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
"You'll  find  them  rather  difficult,"  he  said. 
"You  bet  they  see  your  name  in  the  papers 
— they  all  read  the  '  Fashionable  Intelligence ' 
— confound  um! — and  the  attitude  will  be  a 
little  hostile.  But  be  civil  for  my  sake,  dear. 
I  hate  all  this  just  as  much  as  you  do.  I  can 
get  in  touch  with  them  spiritually,  but  socially 


ii2  A  Lost  Cause 

I  find  it  hard.  But  I  think  it's  the  right 
thing  to  do,  to  entertain  them  all  once  or 
twice  a  year,  and  they  do  enjoy  themselves! 
And  I  owe  them  a  deep,  deep  debt  of  grati- 
tude for  their  loyalty  during  this  trying  week. 
I  have  had  dozens  and  dozens  of  letters  and 
calls.  Every  one  has  rallied  to  the  church  in 
a  wonderful  and  touching  way  since  the  Sun- 
day affair.  God  bless  them  all! " 

Lucy  squeezed  his  arm  with  sympathy.  In 
an  hour,  the  guests  began  to  arrive. 

Lucy  and  her  brother  met  them  by  the 
garden  door  of  the  house.  It  was  a  gay 
scene  enough.  A  brilliant  flood  of  afternoon 
sunshine  irradiated  everything;  the  women 
were  well  and  fashionably  dressed,  the  band 
played,  and  every  one  seemed  happy. 

Lucy  found  it  much  easier  than  she  ex- 
pected. The  guests  were  suburban,  of  course, 
and  not  of  the  "classic  suburbs"  at  that. 
But,  she  reflected,  there  was  hardly  a  man 
there  who  had  not  better  manners  than  Lord 
Rollington  or  General  Pompe.  And  if  they 
wore  Carthusian  or  Zingari  ribbons,  that 
meant  no  more  than  that  they  were  blessed 
with  a  colour-sense ;  while  a  slight  admixture 
of  "i"  in  the  pronunciation  of  the  first  vowel 
was  certainly  preferable  to  the  admixture  of 


The  Vicarage  Garden  113 

looseness  and  innuendo  that  she  was  some- 
times forced  to  hear  in  much  more  exalted 
circles.  So  she  received  tea  and  strawberries 
at  the  hands  of  gallant  and  debonair  young 
gentlemen  engaged  in  the  minor  walks  of 
commerce;  she  chatted  merrily  with  fluffy 
young  ladies  who,  when  they  had  gotten  over 
their  first  distrust  of  a  girl  who  went  to  the 
drawing-room  and  stayed  with  lords,  finding 
that  she  was  n't  the  "nasty,  stuck-up  thing'* 
they  expected,  were  somewhat  effusively  affec- 
tionate. She  talked  gravely  about  the  "dear 
vicar  and  those  dreadful  men"  to  ample 
matrons  who  for  a  moment  had  forgotten  the 
cares  of  a  small  suburban  villa  and  a  smaller 
income,  in  the  luxury  of  fashion,  the  latest 
waltz  tunes,  the  champagne  cup,  and  a  real 
social  event.  Indeed,  everything  went "  with 
a  snap,"  as  one  young  gentleman  remarked  to 
Lucy.  She  became  popular  almost  at  once, 
and  was  surrounded  by  assiduous  young 
bloods  of  the  city  "meccas." 

Father  Blantyre,  as  he  went  about  from 
group  to  group,  was  in  a  state  of  extreme 
happiness,  despite  his  somewhat  gloomy  an- 
ticipations. It  was  an  hour  of  triumph  for 
him.  His  people,  for  whom  he  prayed  and 
laboured  and  gave  his  life  and  fortune,  were 

8 


ii4  A  Lost  Cause 

one  and  all  engaged  to  show  him  how  they 
would  stand  by  him  in  the  anticipated 
trouble.  Everywhere  he  was  greeted  with 
real  warmth  and  affection,  and  before  long  the 
quick  Celtic  temperament  was  bringing  a  mist 
before  the  merry  grey  eyes  and  a  riot  and 
tumult  of  thankfulness  within. 

On  all  sides,  he  heard  praises  of  his  sister. 
"The  pretty  dear,"  one  good  lady,  the  wife 
of  a  cashier  in  a  small  Mincing  Lane  firm,  said 
to  him.  "I  had  quite  a  long  talk  with  her, 
Father  Blantyre.  And  a  sweet  girl  she  is. 
We  're  not  in  the  way  of  meeting  with  society 
folk,  though  we  read  of  all  the  gay  goings-on 
in  the  Mail;  but  I  said  to  Pa,  'Pa,'  I  said, 
'if  all  the  society  girls  are  like  that,  then 
there's  nothing  much  the  matter  with  the 
aristocracy,  and  Modern  Society  is  a  catch- 
penny rag.'  And  Pa  quite  agreed.  He  was 
as  much  struck  by  her  as  I  was." 

And  so  on.  Every  one  seemed  pleased  with 
Lucy.  The  guests  began  to  arrive  less  and 
less  frequently,  until  at  length  the  gardens 
were  crowded  and  no  one  else  appeared  to  be 
coming.  All  the  various  games  and  enter- 
tainments were  in  full  swing,  and  Lucy  was 
about  to  accept  the  invitation  of  a  tall  boy  in 
a  frock  coat  and  a  silk  hat  to  sit  down  and 


The  Vicarage  Garden  115 

watch  a  set  of  tennis  with  him,  when  there 
was  a  slight  stir  and  commotion  at  the  garden 
door  of  the  house. 

Miss  Cass  came  hurriedly  down  the  steps, 
as  a  sort  of  advance  guard  for  two  ladies  who 
were  ushered  into  the  garden  by  a  waiter. 
The  housekeeper  dived  into  the  crowd  and 
found  the  vicar,  who  turned  and  went  with 
her  at  once  to  meet  the  late-comers. 

' '  There 's  Miss  Pritchett  and  Gussie  Davies," 
said  the  young  man  to  Lucy  in  rather  an 
awed  voice,  and  then,  as  if  to  banish  some 
unwelcome  impression,  relieved  his  feelings  by 
the  enigmatic  remark  of  "Pip,  pip,"  which 
made  Lucy  stare  at  him,  wondering  what  on 
earth  he  meant. 

She  noticed  that  nearly  every  one  at  this 
end  of  the  garden  was  watching,  more  or  less 
openly,  the  meeting  between  the  vicar  and 
his  guests.  She  did  not  quite  understand 
why,  but  guessed  that  some  local  magnate 
had  arrived,  and  looked  with  the  rest. 

The  elder  of  the  two  women  was  expens- 
ively dressed  in  mauve  silk,  and  wore  a 
small  bonnet  with  a  white  aigrette  over  a 
coffee-coloured  fringe  of  hair  that  suggested 
art.  Her  face  was  plump  and  pompous,  a 
parrot-like  nose  curved  over  pursy  lips  that 


n6  A  Lost  Cause 

wore  an  expression  of  arrogant  ill-temper,  and 
the  small  eyes  glanced  rapidly  hither  and 
thither.  In  one  white-gloved  hand,  the  lady 
held  a  long-handled  lorgnette  of  tortoise-shell 
and  gold.  Every  now  and  then  she  raised 
these  glasses  and  surveyed  the  scene  before 
her,  in  exactly  the  manner  in  which  countesses 
and  duchesses  do  upon  the  stage. 

Her  companion  was  young,  a  large,  blonde 
girl,  not  ill-looking,  but  without  character  or 
decision  in  her  face  or  walk.  She  was  dressed 
very  simply. 

Lucy  turned  to  her  companion.  "Do  you 
know  them,  then?"  she  said. 

"Rather,"  he  replied.  "I  should  think  I 
did.  That 's  Miss  Pritchett,  old  Joseph  Pritch- 
ett's  daughter,  old  Joseph,  the  brewer.  He 
left  her  all  his  money,  she's  tons  of  stuff — 
awfully  wealthy,  I  mean,  Miss  Blantyre." 

"Does  she  live  here,  then?" 

"Oh,  yes.  In  spite  of  all  her  money  she's 
always  been  an  unappropriated  blessing. 
She's  part  of  Hornham,  drives  a  pair  in  a 
landau.  The  girl  is  Gussie  Davies,  her  com- 
panion. She's  not  half  a  bad  sort.  All  the 
Hornham  boys  know  Gussie.  Nothing  the 
matter  with  Gussie  Davis!  The  old  cat  sits 
on  her  fearfully,  though.  She  can't  call  her 


The  Vicarage  Garden  1 1 7 

soul  her  own.  It's  bally  awful,  sometimes, 
Gussie  says." 

Lucy  gasped.  These  revelations  were  start- 
ling indeed.  She  was  moving  in  the  queerest 
possible  set  of  people.  She  had  n't  realised  that 
such  folk  existed.  It  took  her  breath  away, 
like  the  first  plunge  into  a  bath  of  cold  water. 

The  artless  youth  prattled  on,  and  Lucy 
gathered  that  the  lady  with  the  false  front 
was  a  sort  of  female  arbiter  elegantarium 
to  Hornham,  indubitably  the  richest  person 
there,  a  leading  light.  She  saw  her  brother 
talking  to  the  woman  in  an  eager  way.  He 
seemed  afraid  of  her, — as,  indeed,  the  poor 
man  was,  under  the  present  circumstances, — 
and  Lucy  resented  it.  With  a  quick  feminine 
eye,  she  saw  that  Miss  Pritchett  was  assum- 
ing an  air  of  tolerance,  of  patronage  even,  to 
the  vicar. 

At  last,  Bernard  caught  sight  of  her.  His 
face  became  relieved  at  once  and  he  led  the 
spinster  to  the  place  where  she  was  sitting. 

Every  instinct  of  the  girl  rose  up  in  dislike 
and  rebellion  as  the  woman  drew  near.  She 
had  felt  nothing  of  the  sort  with  the  other 
people.  In  this  case,  it  was  quite  different. 
She  prepared  to  repel  cavalry,  to  use  the  lan- 
guage of  the  military  text-books. 


1 1 8  A  Lost  Cause 

On  the  surface,  the  incident  was  simple  and 
commonplace  enough.  A  well-bred  girl  felt 
a  repulsion  for  an  obviously  unpleasant  and 
patronising  woman  of  inferior  social  rank. 
That  was  all.  It  is  a  trite  and  well-worn 
aphorism  that  no  event  is  trivial,  yet  it  is 
extraordinarily  true.  Who  could  have  said 
that  this  casual  meeting  was  to  be  fraught 
with  storm  and  danger  for  the  Church  in 
England;  that  out  of  a  hostile  handshake 
between  two  women  a  mighty  scandal  and 
tumult  was  to  rise  ? 

Miss  Pritchett  came  up  to  Lucy,  and  Father 
Blantyre  introduced  her.  Then,  with  an 
apologetic  murmur,  he  hurried  away  to  an- 
other part  of  the  garden. 

"Won't  you  sit  down?"  Lucy  said,  looking 
at  the  chair  that  had  been  left  vacant  by  her 
late  companion. 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Blantyre,  but  I've  been 
sitting  in  my  carriage.  I  should  prefer  to 
stand,  if  it's  the  same  to  you,"  said  Miss 
Pritchett. 

Lucy  rose.  "Perhaps  you  would  like  to 
walk  round  the  grounds?"  she  asked. 

"Probably  I  know  the  grounds  better  than 
you,"  the  elder  woman  answered  with  a 
patronage  which  was  bordering  on  the  purely 


The  Vicarage  Garden  119 

ludicrous.  "This  residence  was  one  of  my 
dear  father's  houses,  as  were  many  of  the 
Hornham  houses.  When  the  vicar  acquired 
the  property,  the  brewery  trustees  sold  it  to 
him,  though  I  think  it  far  from  suitable  for  a 
parish  clergyman." 

"Well,  yes,"  Lucy  answered.  "It  cer- 
tainly is  a  dingy,  gloomy  old  place,  but  what 
else  can  you  expect  down  here?" 

Miss  Pritchett  flushed  and  tossed  her  head 
till  the  aigrette  in  her  smart  little  bonnet 
shook  like  a  leaf. 

"One  is  liable  to  be  misunderstood,"  she 
said.  "Your  brother's  small  private  means 
enable  him  to  live  in  a  house  which  the  next 
vicar  or  any  ordinary  clergyman  could  hardly 
hope  for." 

"It  is  very  good  of  Bernard  to  come  down 
here  and  spend  his  life  in  such  an  impossible 
place,"  Lucy  said.  She  was  thoroughly 
angry  now  and  quite  determined  to  give  the 
woman  a  lesson.  Her  impertinence  was  in- 
sufferable. To  hear  this  creature  speak  of 
Bernard's  income  of  three  thousand  a  year — 
every  penny  of  which  he  gave  away  or  spent 
for  good — in  this  way  was  unendurable. 

Miss  Pritchett  grew  redder  than  ever.  She 
was  utterly  incapable  of  bearing  rebuff  or 


1 20  A  Lost  Cause 

contradiction.  Her  local  eminence  was  un- 
questioned. She  had  never  moved  from  Horn- 
ham,  where  her  wealth  and  large  interests 
secured  for  her  that  slavish  subserviency  that 
a  vain  and  petty  spirit  loves.  For  months  past, 
she  had  been  gradually  gathering  up  cause  for 
quarrel  and  bitterness  with  the  clergy  of  St. 
Elwyn's.  She  had  found  that  once  within 
the  portals  of  the  church  she  was  just  as  any- 
one else.  She  could  not  lord  it  over  the 
priests  as  she  wished  to  do.  For  once,  she  was 
beginning  to  find  that  her  money  was  power- 
less, there  was  no  "high  seat  in  the  syna- 
gogue" that  it  could  buy. 

"The  place  has  been  good  enough  for  me," 
she  said  angrily,  never  doubting  that  this  was 
final. 

"Ah,  yes,"  Lucy  answered.  "That,  Miss 
Pritchett,  I  can  quite  understand."  The 
Hornham  celebrity  was  a  stupid  woman.  Her 
brain  was  as  empty  as  a  hen's,  and  she  was 
not  adroit  enough  to  seize  upon  the  real 
meaning  of  this  remark.  She  had  an  uneasy 
suspicion  that  it  was  offensive,  and  that  was 
all. 

"What  you  may  mean  by  'impossible'  I  am 
not  aware,"  she  continued.  "I  speak  plain 
English  myself.  But  those  that  don't  know 


The  Vicarage  Garden  121 

of  a  place  did  n't  ought  to  speak  unfavourable 
of  it.  As  for  your  brother,  I  've  always  said 
that  he  was  a  worthy  person  and  acted  as 
well  as  he  might,  until  late  months,  when  I  've 
felt  it  my  duty  to  say  a  word  or  two  in  season 
as  to  some  of  the  church  matters." 

"I  hope  he  profited,  Miss  Pritchett." 

"I  fear  that  he  did  not  receive  my  words 
as  he  should,  coming  from  a  lady  of  standing 
in  the  place — and  him  only  here  three  years. 
I'm  beginning  to  think  that  there's  some- 
thing in  the  popular  agitation.  Upon  my 
word!  Priests  do  take  a  good  deal  on  them- 
selves nowadays.  It  would  n't  have  been 
allowed  when  I  was  a  girl." 

"Things  have  altered  very  much  for  the 
better  during  the  last  fifty  years,"  Lucy  said 
pointedly. 

This  the  lady  did  immediately  apprehend. 
She  lifted  the  lorgnette  and  stared  at  her 
companion  in  speechless  anger.  The  move- 
ment was  meant  to  be  crushing.  It  was 
thus,  Miss  Pritchett  knew  from  her  read- 
ing, that  women  of  the  aristocracy  crushed 
inferiors. 

It  was  too  much  for  Lucy.  She  endeav- 
oured to  control  her  feelings,  but  they  were 
irresistible.  She  had  not  seen  anything  so 


122  A  Lost  Cause 

funny  as  this  vulgar  and  pompous  old  thing 
for  years.  A  smile  broadened  out  upon  her 
face,  and  then,  without  further  ado,  she  burst 
out  into  peal  after  peal  of  laughter. 

The  flush  on  Miss  Pritchett's  face  died  away. 
It  grew  perfectly  white  with  passion. 

She  turned  round.  Her  companion  had 
been  walking  some  three  yards  behind  them 
in  a  listless  and  dejected  fashion,  looking  with 
greedy  eyes  at  the  allurements  on  every  side, 
and  answering  the  furtive  greetings  of  vari- 
ous male  friends  with  a  pantomime,  expres- 
sive of  contempt,  irritation,  and  hopeless 
bondage  in  equal  parts. 

Miss  Pritchett  stepped  up  to  her,  and 
caught  hold  of  her  arm.  Her  fingers  went  so 
deep  into  the  flesh  that  the  girl  gasped  and 
gave  a  half-smothered  cry. 

"Take  me  to  the  carriage,"  Miss  Pritchett 
said.  "Let  me  leave  this  place  of  Popery 
and  light  women! " 

The  obedient  Gussie  Davies  turned  and,  in 
a  moment  or  two,  both  women  had  disap- 
peared. 

Lucy  sought  her  brother.  She  found  him 
eating  a  large  pink  ice  in  company  with  a 
florid,  good-humoured  matron  in  maroon, 
with  an  avalanche  of  lace  falling  from  the 


The  Vicarage  Garden  123 

edges  of  her  parasol.  "Hallo,  dear! "  he  said. 
"Let  me  introduce  you  to  Mrs.  Stiffe, 
Dr.  Hibbert's  sister.  And  where 's  Miss 
Pritchett?" 

' '  She 's  gone, ' '  Lucy  answered.  *  *  And,  I  'm 
very  much  afraid,  in  a  towering  rage.  But 
really  she  was  so  insolent  that  I  could  not 
stand  it.  I  would  do  most  things  for  you, 
Ber,  but,  really,  that  woman!" 

"Well,  it  can't  be  helped,  I  suppose,"  the 
vicar  said  with  humorous  resignation.  "It 
was  bound  to  come  sooner  or  later,  and  I'm 
selfish  enough  to  be  glad  it 's  you  Ve  given  me 
lady  the  congt  and  not  me.  Mrs.  Stiffe  here 
knows  her,  don't  you,  Mrs.  Stiffe?" 

"I  do,  Mr.  Blantyre,"  the  stout  lady  said. 
' '  I ' ve  met  the  woman  several  times  when  I ' ve 
been  staying  down  here  with  my  brother.  A 
fearful  old  cat  /  call  her!  I  wonder  that  you 
put  up  with  her  so  long! " 

"Policy,  Mrs.  Stiffe — ye  know  we're  all 
Jesuits  here,  the  local  paper  says  so  in  yester- 
day's issue — policy!  You  see,  when  I  first 
came  here  Miss  Pritchett  came  to  church. 
She's  a  leading  person  here  and  I  made  no 
doubt  others  would  follow  her.  Indeed,  they 
did,  too!  and  when  they  saw  what  the  Catho- 
lic Church  really  was  they  stayed  with  us. 


A  Lost  Cause 

And  then,  again,  Miss  Pritchett  was  always 
ready  to  give  us  a  cheque  for  any  good  work, 
and  we  want  all  the  money  we  can  get!  Oh, 
there 's  a  lot  of  good  in  Miss  Pritchett! " 

"I  fail  to  see  it  on  a  short  acquaintance," 
Lucy  remarked;  "if  she  gave  generously,  it 
was  only  to  flatter  her  vanity.  I'm  sure  of 
that." 

"It's  a  great  mistake  to  attribute  un- 
worthy motives  to  worthy  deeds,"  the  vicar 
said.  "  We  've  no  right  to  do  it,  and  it  's 
only  giving  ourselves  away  when  we  do,  after 
all!" 

"Oh,  it's  all  very  well,  Vicar,"  said  good 
Mrs.  Stifle;  "we  know  you  never  say  anything 
against  any  one.  But  if  Miss  Pritchett  is 
such  an  angel,  what's  the  reason  of  her  be- 
haviour now?  My  brother  told  me  that  things 
were  getting  very  strained." 

"Ah,  that's  a  different  matter  entirely," 
Blantyre  said.  ' '  She  began  to  interfere  in  im- 
portant things.  And,  of  course,  we  could  n't 
have  that.  I'd  have  let  her  manage  the 
soup-kitchens  and  boss  the  ladies'  guilds  till 
the  sky  fell.  But  she  wanted  to  do  more  than 
that.  Poor  dear  King  offended  her  in  some 
way — he's  not  what  ye'd  call  a  ladies'  man 
— and  she  wrote  to  me  to  send  him  away  at 


The  Vicarage  Garden  125 

once!  And  there  were  other  incidents.  I've 
been  doing  my  best  to  meet  her  views  and  to 
keep  in  with  her,  but  it's  been  very  difficult 
and  I  felt  the  storm  would  burst  soon.  I 
wanted  to  keep  her  in  the  Faith  for  her  own 
silly  sake!  She's  not  a  very  strong-minded 
person  beneath  her  manner,  and  she's  just 
the  sort  of  woman  some  spiritualistic  quack 
or  Christian  Science  gentleman  would  get  hold 
of  and  ruin  her  health  and  happiness.  I  did 
hope  she'd  find  peace  in  the  Church.  Well, 
it  can't  be  helped,"  he  ended  with  a  rather 
sad  smile,  for  his  heart  was  tender  for  all  his 
flock  and  he  saw  far  down  into  the  human 
soul  and  loved  it.  Then  he  changed  suddenly. 
"What  am  I  doing!"  he  cried,  "talking  paro- 
chial politics  at  a  garden  party!  Shame  on 
me!  Come  on,  Mrs.  Stiffe,  come  on,  Lucy, 
Mr.  Chaff,  the  piano-entertainer,  is  going  to 
give  his  happy  half -hour  at  Earl's  Court." 

They  went  merrily  away  with  him.  As 
they  approached  the  rows  of  chairs  in  front 
of  the  piano,  he  turned  suddenly  to  his 
sister. 

"Why  did  n't  ye  knock  her  down?"  he 
said  suddenly,  with  an  exaggerated  brogue 
and  real  comic  force.  Both  ladies  burst  out 
laughing. 


126  A  Lost  Cause 

"You  ought  to  have  been  on  the  music-hall 
stage,  Vicar,"  Mrs.  Stifle  said,  "you're  wasted 
in  Hornham." 

"So  I've  been  told,"  he  said.  "I  shall 
think  seriously  of  it.  It's  a  pity  to  waste  a 
talent." 


CHAPTER  VI 

BOADICEA,   JOAN  OF  ARC,   CHARLOTTE  CORDAY, 
JAEL,   AND  MISS   PRITCHETT  OF  HORNHAM 

DEOPLE  of  taste  are  never  without  won- 
der at  the  extraordinary  lack  of  it  that 
many  well-to-do  folk  display.  It  was  but 
rarely  that  a  person  of  taste  entered  Malakoff 
Lodge,  where  Miss  Pritchett  dwelt,  but  when 
such  an  event  did  happen,  the  impression  was 
simply  that  of  enormous  surprise.  The  draw- 
ing-room into  which  visitors  were  shown  was 
an  immense  place  and  full  of  furniture.  In 
each  of  the  corners  stood  a  life-sized  piece  of 
statuary  painted  in  "natural  colours."  Here 
one  saw  an  immense  negro,  some  six  feet 
high,  with  coffee-coloured  skin,  gleaming  red 
lips,  and  a  gaudy  robe  of  blue  and  yellow. 
This  monster  supported  a  large  earthenware 
basket  on  his  back,  painted,  of  course,  in  cor- 
rect straw-colour,  from  which  sprang  a  tall 
palm  that  reached  to  the  ceiling.  In  other 
corners  of  the  room  were  an  Egyptian  danc- 
ing-girl, a  Turk,  and  an  Indian  fakir,  all  of 

127 


1 28  A  Lost  Cause 

which  supported  ferns,  which  it  was  part  of 
Miss  Gussie  Davies'  duty  to  water  every 
morning. 

The  many  tables,  chiefly  of  circular  or  oc- 
tagonal form,  which  stood  about  the  room,  bore 
a  multitude  of  costly  and  hideous  articles 
which  should  have  been  relegated  to  a  museum, 
to  illustrate  the  deplorable  taste  of  the  middle 
classes  during  the  early  and  mid- Victorian 
era.  Here,  for  example,  was  a  model  of  the 
leaning  tower  of  Pisa  done  in  white  alabaster, 
some  two  feet  in  height,  and  shielded  from 
harm  by  a  thick  glass  case.  There,  the  eye 
fell  upon  a  bunch  of  very  purple  grapes 
and  a  nectarine  or  two,  made  of  wax,  with 
a  waxen  bee  settling  upon  them,  all  cov- 
ered with  glass  also.  Literary  tastes  were 
not  forgotten.  Immense  volumes  of  Moore's 
poems,  the  works  of  Southey  or  Robert  Mont- 
gomery lay  about  on  the  tables.  These  were 
bound  in  heavy  leather  boards,  elaborately 
tooled  in  gold  representations  of  Greek  lyres 
and  golden  laurel  crowns.  The  shining  gilt 
edges  were  preserved  from  the  profanation  of 
a  casual  opening  by  two  or  three  immense 
brass  clasps  which  imprisoned  the  poet's 
thoughts  within. 

The  time  in  which  these  things  were  made 


Miss  Pritchett  of  Hornham        129 

was  a  sentimental  age,  and  it  was  well  re- 
flected in  its  bijouterie.  Innumerable  nymphs 
and  shepherdesses  stood  about  offering  each 
other  hearts,  madrigals,  and  other  dainties. 
But  they  had  none  of  the  piquant  grace  that 
Watteau  would  have  given  them,  or  the 
charm  the  white-hot  fires  of  Dresden  might 
have  burnt  into  them.  They  were  solid,  very 
British  nymphs,  whose  drapery  was  most  de- 
corously arranged  that  one  thick  ankle  might 
be  visible,  but  no  more; — nymphs  and  shep- 
herdesses who,  one  might  imagine,  sat  happily 
by  the  bank  of  some  canal,  singing  the  pious 
ditties  of  Dr.  Watts  as  the  sun  went  down, — 
nymphs,  in  short,  with  a  moral  purpose. 
The  hangings  of  Miss  Pritchett's  room,  the 
heavy  window  curtains  that  descended  from 
baldachinos  of  gleaming  gold,  were  all  of  a 
rich  crimson,  an  extraordinary  colour  that  is 
not  made  now,  and  the  wall-paper  was  a 
heavy  pattern  in  dark  ultramarine  and  gold. 
Indeed,  there  was  enough  gold  in  this  mauso- 
leum to  have  satisfied  Miss  Killmansegg 
herself. 

One  merit  the  place  had  in  summer,  it  was 
cool,  and  when  the  barouche  that  was  the 
envy  of  Hornham  drove  up  at  Malakoff  gates, 
Miss  Pritchett  rushed  into  the  drawing-room, 


130  A  Lost  Cause 

and,  sinking  into  an  arm-chair  of  purple 
plush,  fanned  a  red  and  angry  face  with  her 
handkerchief. 

The  companion  followed  her  meekly. 

"Wait  there,  Miss  Davies,"  said  the  spin- 
ster sharply;  "stand  there  for  a  moment, 
please,  till  I  can  get  my  breath." 

Miss  Davies  remained  standing  before  her 
patroness  in  meek  obedience.  After  a  minute 
or  two,  Miss  Pritchett  motioned  with  her  hand 
towards  an  adjacent  chair.  Gussie  Davies 
sat  down. 

It  was  part  of  the  spinster's  life  to  subject 
her  companion  to  a  kind  of  drill  in  this  way. 
The  unfortunate  girl's  movements  were  regu- 
lated mathematically,  and  in  her  more  genial 
and  expansive  moments  Miss  Pritchett  would 
explain  that  her  "nerves"  required  that  this 
should  be  so — that  she  should  have  absolute 
control  over  the  movements  of  any  one  who 
was  in  the  room  with  her. 

There  had  been  spirited  contests  between 
Miss  Pritchett  and  a  long  succession  of  girls 
who  had  refused  to  play  the  part  of  automa- 
ton, but  in  Gussie  Davies,  the  lady  had  found 
a  willing  slave.  She  paid  her  well,  and  in 
return  was  served  with  diligence  and  thorough 
obsequiousness.  Gussie  was  adroit,  more 


Miss  Pritchett  of  Hornham        131 

adroit  than  her  somewhat  lymphatic  appear- 
ance would  have  led  the  casual  observer 
to  suppose.  Properly  trained,  she  might 
almost  have  made  a  psychologist,  but  her 
opportunities  had  been  limited.  However, 
for  several  years,  she  had  directed  a  sharp 
brain  to  the  study  of  one  person,  and  she 
knew  Miss  Pritchett  as  Mr.  Sponge  knew  his 
Mogg.  Her  influence  with  that  lady  was 
enormous,  the  more  so  in  that  it  was  not  at 
all  suspected  by  the  object,  who  imagined 
that  the  girl  was  hers,  body  and  soul.  But, 
nevertheless,  Miss  Davies,  who  hailed  from 
Wales  and  had  a  large  share  of  the  true  Cym- 
ric cunning,  could  play  upon  her  mistress  with 
sure  fingers,  and,  while  submitting  to  every 
form  of  petty  tyranny,  and  occasionally  open 
insult,  she  ruled  the  foolish  woman  she  was 
with. 

Gussie  sat  down.  Miss  Pritchett  did  not 
speak  at  once,  and  the  girl  judged,  correctly 
enough,  that  she  was  meant  to  open  the  ball. 

"O  Miss  Pritchett!"  she  said  with  a  little 
shudder,  "what  a  relief  it  must  be  to  you  to 
be  back  in  your  own  mansion!" 

Nothing  pleased  the  spinster  more  than  the 
word  mansion  as  applied  to  her  house.  Gus- 
sie used  the  term  with  discretion,  employing 


i32  A  Lost  Cause 

it  only  on  special  occasions,  unwilling  to  be 
prodigal  of  so  sure  a  card. 

"You  may  well  say  that,  child,"  Miss 
Pritchett  answered  faintly. 

"Now  you  must  let  me  ring  for  a  glass  of 
port  for  you,"  the  young  lady  continued. 
"You  need  it,  indeed  you  do.  I'll  take  the 
responsibility  on  myself." 

She  rose  and  rang  the  bell.  "Two  glasses, 
said  Miss  Pritchett  when  the  answering  maid 
had  received  her  order.  "You  shall  have 
a  glass,  Gussie,  for  I  feel  I  am  to  blame  in 
taking  you  to  such  a  place.  I  have  seen  the 
world,  and  I  have  met  women  of  that  class 
before,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  But  hitherto  I 
have  managed  to  shield  you  from  such 
contamination. ' ' 

Gussie  sighed  the  sigh  of  innocence,  a  sigh 
which  the  young  men  with  whom  she  larked 
about  in  Alexandra  Gardens  never  heard. 

"I  wish  I  had  your  knowledge  of  the 
world,"  she  said.  "But,  of  course,  I've 
never  mixed  in  society,  not  like  you." 

The  port  arrived  and  in  a  minute  or  two 
the  experienced  damsel  saw  that  her  patron- 
ess was  settling  down  for  a  long  and  confi- 
dential chat.  The  moment  promised  a  golden 
opportunity,  of  which  she  meant  to  take 


Miss  Pritchett  of  Hornham        133 

advantage  if  she  possibly  could.  She  had  a  big 
scheme  in  hand ;  she  was  primed  with  it  by 
minds  more  subtle  than  her  own.  The  image 
of  Sam  Hamlyn  was  before  her  and  she  burned 
to  deserve  that  gentleman's  commendation. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Pritchett,  "as  a  girl,  when 
I  used  to  go  to  the  Lord  Mayor's  balls  at  the 
Mansion  House  with  papa  and  mamma,  I  saw 
what  society  really  was.  And  it's  worse 
now!  That  abandoned  hussy  at  the  vicar- 
age is  an  example  of  what  I  mean.  I  must 
not  go  into  details  before  you,  child,  but  I 
know  what  I  know! " 

"How  awful,  Miss  Pritchett!  I  saw  her 
making  eyes  at  all  the  gentlemen  before  you 
went  up  to  her." 

"All's  fish  that  comes  to  the  net  of  such," 
replied  Miss  Pritchett.  "An  earl's  toy,  the 
giddy  bubble  floating  on  the  open  sewer  of  a 
London  season,  or  the  sly  allurer  of  an  honest 
young  city  gentleman.  Anything  in  trousers, 
child,  is  like  herrings  to  a  cat!" 

"How  awful!  Miss  Pritchett,"  repeated 
Gussie,  wondering  what  it  would  be  like  to 
be  an  earl's  toy,  and  rather  thinking  she 
would  enjoy  it.  "I  suppose  you'll  go  to 
the  vicarage  just  as  usual,  though, — on  parish 
business,  I  mean." 


134  A  Lost  Cause 

This,  as  the  girl  expected,  provoked  a 
storm,  which  she  patiently  endured,  certain 
that  she  was  in  a  way  to  gain  her  ends.  At 
length,  the  flow  of  vouble  and  angry  words 
grew  less.  Miss  Pritchett  was  enjoying  her- 
self too  much  to  risk  the  girl's  non-compliance 
with  her  mood. 

"There,  there,"  she  said  eventually,  "it's 
only  your  ignorance  I  know,  Gussie,  but  you 
do  aggravate  me.  You  don't  understand 
society.  Never  shall  I  set  foot  in  that  man's 
house  again!" 

Gussie  gasped.  Her  face  expressed  fervent 
admiration  at  such  a  daring  resolve,  but 
slight  incredulity  as  well. 

The  bait  took  again.  "Never,  as  I'm  a 
living  lady!"  said  Miss  Pritchett,  "and  I 
don't  know  as  I  shall  ever  drive  up  to  the 
church  doors  in  my  carriage  on  a  Sunday 
morning  more!  Opinions  may  change.  I 
may  have  been — I  don't  say  I  have  been,  yet, 
mind  you — I  may  have  been  led  away  by  the 
false  glitter  of  Roman  doctrine  and  goings 
on." 

The  idea  seemed  to  please  the  lady.  She  saw 
herself  picturesque  in  such  a  situation. 

Gussie  started  suddenly. 

"What's  the  matter,  child?"  she  was  asked 


Miss  Pritchett  of  Hornham        135 

tartly ; ' '  do  you  think  no  one 's  got  any  nerves  ? 
Keep  still,  do!" 

"I'm  very  sorry,  Miss  Pritchett,  but  when 
you  said,  that  I  remembered  something  I  was 
reading  last  night  in  the  Hornham  Observer." 

"I  was  keeping  it  for  Sunday  afternoon," 
said  Miss  Pritchett.  "I  did  mean  to  go  to 
morning  service  and  then  read  Mr.  Hamlyn's 
side  of  last  Sunday's  proceedings  at  home, 
comfortable  like.  But  what's  in  the  paper?" 

"A  great  deal  that  will  interest  you,  dear 
Miss  Pritchett,  though  I  do  not  know  if  you 
will  be  pleased." 

' '  Pleased  ?    What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

"Your  name  is  mentioned  several  times." 

"Is  it,  indeed!  We'll  soon  see  about  that! 
Fetch  the  paper  at  once  and  read  what  it 
says.  If  Mr.  Hamlyn'  s  been  foolish  enough 
to  talk  about  his  betters,  I  '11  very  soon  have 
him  turned  neck  and  crop  out  of  the  place. 
He 's  a  man  I  've  never  spoken  to  more  than 
twice,  and  he  must  be  taught  his  place  in 
Hornham." 

Gussie  went  out  to  fetch  the  paper.  She 
smiled  triumphantly  as  she  came  into  the 
hall.  All  was  going  well  and,  moreover,  her 
quick  ear  had  caught  the  slight  trace  of  wa- 
vering and  alarm  in  the  concluding  words  of 


136  A  Lost  Cause 

her  mistress.  Miss  Pritchett,  like  many  other 
people,  was  never  able  to  rid  herself  of  a 
superstitious  reverence  for  print.  She  de- 
voutly believed  the  cheap  romances  that 
formed  her  literary  food,  and  even  a  small 
local  newspaper  was  not  without  a  strong 
influence  on  one  whose  whole  sympathies  and 
interests  were  local. 

Gussie  came  back  with  the  paper.  ' '  There 's 
two  whole  pages  about  the  St.  Elwyn's  busi- 
ness," she  said,  "column  after  column,  with 
great  big  letters  at  the  top.  Shall  I  begin  at 
the  beginning?" 

"No,  no ;  read  the  bits  about  me,  of  course. 
Read  what  it  was  that  made  you  jump  like 
a  cat  in  an  oven  just  now." 

"That  particular  bit  did  not  mention  your 
name,  Miss  Pritchett,  but  it  chimed  in  so  with 
what  you  said  just  now.  I  wonder  if  I  can 
find  it  ? — ah,  here  it  is — 

" '  And  so  I  think  I  have  accounted  for  the 
reason  of  the  popularity  of  such  services  as 
go  on  at  St.  Elwyn's  among  the  poorer  classes. 
A  wealthy  clergyman  can  buy  attendance  at 
any  idolatry,  and  who  would  blame  a  starving 
brother,  desperate  for  food,  perhaps,  for  at- 
tendance at  a  mummery  which  is  nothing 
to  him  but  the  price  of  a  much-needed  meal  ? 


Miss  Pritchett  of  Hornham        137 

Not  I.  Tolerance  has  ever  been  the  watch- 
word of  the  Observer,  and,  however  much  I 
may  regret  that  even  the  poorest  man  may 
be  forced  to  witness  the  blasphemous  and 
hideous  mockery  of  Truth  that  takes  place  at 
St.  Elwyn's,  I  blame  not  the  man,  but  the 
cunning  of  a  priesthood  that  buys  his  attend- 
ance and  then  points  to  him  as  a  convert  to 
thinly  veiled  Romanism.' ' 

Gussie  stopped  for  a  moment  to  take 
breath.  Miss  Pritchett's  face  was  composed 
to  pleasure.  This  was  hot  and  strong  indeed! 
She  wondered  how  Father  Blantyre  liked 
this! 

Worthy  Mr.  Hamlyn,  indeed,  had  heard  of 
the  little  incident  of  the  navvy  and  Father 
King,  and  knew  that  the  erstwhile  antagonist 
was  now  housed  in  the  vicarage.  Hence  the 
preceding  paragraph.  Gussie  went  on: 

' '  But  what  shall  we  say  when  we  find  rank 
and  fashion,  acute  intelligence  and  honoured 
names  bowing  down  in  the  House  of  Rimmon  ? 
How  shall  we  in  Hornham  regard  such  a 
strange  and — so  it  seems  to  us — unnatural 
state  of  affairs  ? 

"'The  Scarlet  Woman  is  powerful  indeed! 
It  would  be  idle  to  attempt  to  deny  it.  The 
drowsy  magic  of  Rome  has  permeated  with 


138  A  Lost  Cause 

its  subtle  influence  homes  where  we  should 
have  hoped  it  would  never  enter.  And  why 
is  this?  I  think  we  can  understand  the 
reason  in  some  measure.  Let  us  take  an 
imaginary  case.  Let  us  suppose  that  there  is 
among  us  a  woman  of  high  station,  of  intel- 
lect, wealth,  and  charm.  She  sees  a  strug- 
gling priesthood  establish  itself  in  a  Protestant 
neighbourhood.  The  sympathy  that  woman 
will  ever  have  for  the  weak  is  enlisted;  she 
visits  a  church,  not  realising  what  its  sham 
and  ceremony  leads  to,  under  what  Malign 
Influence  it  is  carried  on.  And  then  a  gra- 
cious nature  is  attracted  by  the  cunning 
amenities  of  worship.  The  music,  the  lights, 
the  flowers,  the  gorgeous  robes,  appeal  to  a 
high  and  delicate  nature.  For  a  time,  it 
passes  under  the  sway  of  an  arrogant  priest- 
hood, and,  with  that  sweet  submission  which 
is  one  of  the  most  alluring  of  feminine  charms, 
bows  before  a  Baal  which  it  does  not  realise, 
a  golden  calf  that  it  would  abhor  and  repudi- 
ate were  it  not  blinded  by  its  own  charity  and 
unsuspicious  trust!  Have  I  drawn  a  picture 
that  is  too  strong  ?  I  think  not.  It  is  only  by 
analogy  that  we  can  best  present  the  Truth. 

' ' '  Nevertheless  we  do  not  hesitate  to  assert, 
and  assert  with  absolute  conviction,  that,  if 


Miss  Pritchett  of  Hornham        139 

such  a  clouding  of  a  fine  nature  were  tempo- 
rarily possible,  it  would  be  but  transient. 
Truth  will  prevail.  In  the  end,  we  shall  see 
all  those  who  are  now  the  puppets  and  sub- 
jects of  a  Romanising  attempt  come  back  to 
the  clear  sunlight  of  Protestantism,  away 
from  the  stink-pots  and  candles,  the  toys  of 
ritual,  the  poison  of  a  painted  lie.' ' 

Gussie  read  the  paragraphs  with  unction. 
She  read  them  rather  well.  As  she  made  an 
end,  her  guilty  conscience  gave  her  a  fear 
that  the  unusual  emphasis  might  have  awak- 
ened some  suspicion  in  Miss  Pritchett 's  mind. 
But  with  great  relief  she  saw  that  it  was  not 
so.  That  lady  was  manifestly  excited.  Her 
eyes  were  bright  and  there  was  a  high  flush 
on  the  cheek-bones.  Truth  to  tell,  Miss  Pritch- 
ett had  always  suspected  that  there  were 
depths  of  hidden  gold  in  her  nature.  But 
they  had  never  been  so  vividly  revealed  to 
her  before. 

"Give  me  the  paper,"  she  said  in  a  tremu- 
lous voice;  "let  me  read  it  for  myself!" 

Her  unguarded  words  showed  Miss  Davies 
how  completely  the  fortress  was  undermined. 
The  spinster  read  the  words  through  her 
glasses  and  then  handed  the  paper  back  to 
her  companion. 


140  A  Lost  Cause 

"The  man  that  wrote  that,"  she  said,  "is 
a  good  and  sincere  man.  He  knows  how  the 
kind  heart  can  be  imposed  upon  and  deceived! 
I  shall  take  an  early  opportunity  of  meeting 
Mr.  Hamlyn.  He  will  be  a  great  man  some 
day,  if  I  am  any  judge." 

"He  must  have  had  his  eye  on  the  Mala- 
koff,"  Gussie  said.  "Why,  dear  Miss  Pritch- 
ett,  he  has  described  you  to  a  T.  There 
is  no  one  else  in  Hornham  to  whom  it  could 
apply." 

"Hush,  child!  It  may  be  as  you  say. 
This  worthy  man  may  have  been  casting  his 
eye  over  the  parish  and  thought  that  he  saw 
in  me  something  of  which  he  writes.  It  is 
not  for  me  to  deny  it.  I  can  only  say  that 
in  his  zeal  he  has  much  exaggerated  the 
humble  merits  of  one  who,  whatever  her 
faults,  has  merely  tried  to  do  her  duty  in  the 
station  to  which  she  has  been  called.  And 
if  Providence  has  placed  that  station  high, 
it  is  Providence's  will,  and  we  must  not 
complain!" 

"How  beautifully  you  put  it,  Miss  Pritch- 
ett!" 

The  chatelaine  of  MalakofT  wiped  a  tear 
from  her  eye.  The  excitement  of  the  after- 
noon, the  glass  of  port,  the  periods  of  Mr. 


Miss  Pritchett  of  Hornham        141 

Hamlyn's  prose,  had  all  acted  upon  nerves 
pampered  by  indulgence  and  tightened  with 
self -irritation. 

"I  believe  you  care  for  me,  child,"  said 
Miss  Pritchett  with  a  sob. 

"How  it  rejoices  me  to  hear  you  say  so, 
Miss  Pritchett,"  Gussie  replied,  seeing  that 
her  opportunity  had  now  come.  "But  your 
generous  nature  gives  way  too  easily.  You 
are  unstrung  by  the  wanton  insults  of  that 
woman!  Let  me  read  you  the  concluding 
portion  of  Mr.  Hamlyn's  article.  It  may 
soothe  you." 

"Read  it,"  murmured  the  spinster,  now 
lost  in  an  ecstasy  of  luxurious  grief,  though 
she  would  have  been  puzzled  to  give  a  reason 
for  it. 

Gussie  took  up  the  paper  once  more.  Now 
that  her  battle  was  so  nearly  won,  she  allowed 
herself  more  freedom  in  the  reading.  The 
Celtic  love  of  drama  stirred  within  her  and 
she  gave  the  pompous  balderdash  ore  rotunda. 

"'And  in  conclusion,  what  is  our  crying 
need  in  England  to-day  ?  It  is  this :  It  is  the 
establishment  of  a  great  crusade  for  the 
crushing  of  the  disguised  Popery  in  our  midst. 
One  protest  has  been  made  in  Hornham,  pro- 
tests should  be  made  all  over  England.  A 


142  A  Lost  Cause 

mighty  organisation  should  be  called  into 
existence  which  should  make  every  "priest" 
tremble  in  his  cope  and  cassock,  tremble  for 
the  avalanche  of  public  reprobation  which 
will  descend  upon  him  and  his. 

"'I  may  be  a  visionary  and  no  such  idea 
as  I  have  in  my  mind  may  be  possible.  But 
I  think  not.  Who  can  say  that  our  borough 
of  Hornham  may  not  become  famous  in  his- 
tory as  the  spot  in  which  the  second  Reforma- 
tion was  born! 

' ' '  Much  needs  to  be  done  before  such  a 
glorious  movement  can  be  inaugurated;  that 
it  will  be  inaugurated  a  band  of  earnest 
and  determined  men  and  women  live  in  the 
liveliest  hope. 

"'I  am  confident  that  a  movement  having 
its  seed  in  the  borough,  if  widely  published 
and  made  known  to  patrotic  English  people, 
would  be  supported  with  swift  and  over- 
whelming generosity  by  the  country  at  large. 
The  public  response  would  appal  the  Ritual- 
ists and  even  astonish  loyal  sons  of  the  Church 
of  England.  But,  in  order  to  start  this  cru- 
sade, help  is  required.  Some  noble  soul  must 
come  forward  to  start  the  machine,  to  raise 
the  Protestant  Flag. 

'"Where  shall  we  find  him  or  her?    Is 


Miss  Pritchett  of  Hornham        143 

there  no  one  in  our  midst  willing  to  become 
the  patron  of  Truth  and  to  earn  the  praise  of 
thousands  and  a  place  in  history  ? 

"  'Once  Joan  of  Arc  led  the  forces  of  her 
country  to  victory.  A  Charlotte  Corday  slew 
the  monster  Marat,  a  Boadicea  hurled  herself 
against  the  legions  of  Rome!  Who  will  be 
our  Boadicea  to-day,  who  will  come  forward 
to  crush  the  tyranny  of  Rome  in  our  own 
England?  For  such  a  noble  lady,  who  will 
revive  in  her  own  person  the  undying  deeds 
of  antiquity,  I  can  promise  a  fame  worth 
more  than  all  the  laurels  of  the  old  British 
queen,  the  heartfelt  thanks  and  love  of  her 
countrymen,  and  above  all  of  her  country- 
women— over  whose  more  kindly  and  un- 
suspicious natures  the  deadly  Upas-tree  of 
Romanism  has  cast  its  poisonous  shade. 
Where  is  the  Jael  who  will  destroy  this 
Sisera?'" 

Miss  "Davies  ceased.  Her  voice  sank.  No 
sound  was  heard  but  the  snuffle  that  came 
from  the  plush  arm-chair  opposite,  where 
Miss  Pritchett  was  audibly  weeping.  Mr. 
Hamlyn's  purple  prose  had  been  skilfully  in- 
troduced at  the  psychological  moment.  The 
woman's  ill -balanced  temperament  was  a- 
wry  and  smarting.  Her  egregious  vanity  was 

t 


144  A  Lost  Cause 

wounded  as  it  had  rarely  been  wounded  be- 
fore. She  had  been  treated  as  of  no  account, 
and  she  was  burning  with  spite  and  the  long- 
ing for  revenge. 

Gussie  said  nothing  more.  She  let  the 
words  of  the  newspaper  do  their  work  with- 
out assistance. 

Presently  Miss  Pritchett  looked  up.  She 
wiped  her  eyes  and  a  grim  expression  of  de- 
termination came  out  upon  her  face. 

"I  see  it  all!"  she  said  suddenly.  "My 
trusting  nature  has  been  terribly  deceived;  I 
have  been  led  into  error  by  evil  counsellors; 
the  power  of  the  Jesuits  has  been  secretly 
brought  to  bear  upon  one  who,  whatever  her 
failings,  has  scorned  suspicion!" 

"Oh,  Miss  Pritchett,  how  awful!"  said 
Gussie. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  lady  with  a  delighted 
shudder,  "the  net  has  been  thrown  over  me 
and  I  was  nigh  to  perish.  But  Providence  in- 
tervenes! I  see  how  I  am  to  be  the  'umble 
instrument  of  crushing  error  in  the  Church. 
I  shall  step  into  the  breach!" 

"Oh,  Miss  Pritchett,  how  noble!'1 

"Miss  Davies,  you  will  kindly  put  on  your 
jacket  and  walk  round  to  Mr.  Hamlyn's 
house.  See  Mr.  Hamlyn  and  tell  him  that 


Miss  Pritchett  of  Hornham        145 

Miss  Pritchett  is  too  agitated  by  recent  events 
to  write  personally,  but  she  begs  he  will 
favour  her  with  his  company  at  supper  to 
discuss  matters  of  great  public  importance. 
Tell  Jones  to  send  up  some  sweetbreads  at 
once,  and  inform  cook  as  a  gentleman  will  be 
here  to  supper,  and  to  serve  the  cold  salmon." 
Gussie  rose  quickly.  "Oh,  Miss  Pritchett,  " 
she  cried,  "what  a  great  day  for  England  this 
will  be!" 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  OFFICES  OF  THE  "LUTHER  LEAGUE" — AN 
INTERIOR 

ON  the  first  floor  of  a  building  in  the 
Strand,  wedged  in  between  a  little 
theatre  and  a  famous  restaurant,  the  offices 
of  the  "Luther  League "  were  established,  and 
by  late  autumn  were  in  the  full  swing  of 
their  activity. 

Visitors  to  this  stronghold  of  Protestant- 
ism mounted  a  short  flight  of  stairs  and  ar- 
rived in  a  wide  passage.  Four  or  five  doors 
opening  into  it  all  bore  the  name  of  the 
association  in  large  letters  of  white  enamel. 
The  first  door  bore  the  legend : 

"PUBLISHING  AND  GENERAL  OFFICE 
INQUIRIES" 

This  room,  the  one  by  which  the  general 
public  were  admitted  to  the  inner  sanctu- 
aries, was  a  large  place  fitted  up  with  desks 
and  glass  compartments  in  much  the  same 

146 


Offices  of  the  "  Luther  League  "     147 

way  as  the  ordinary  clerks'  office  of  a  business 
house.  A  long  counter  divided  the  room,  and 
upon  it  were  stacked  piles  of  the  newly  pub- 
lished pamphlet  literature  of  the  League. 
Here  could  be  seen  that  stirring  narrative, 
Cowed  by  the  Concessional;  or,  The  Story  of 
an  English  Girl  in  the  Power  of  the  "Priests.'" 
This  publication,  probably  the  cheapest  piece 
of  pornography  in  print  at  the  moment,  was 
published,  with  an  illustration,  at  three  pence. 
Upon  the  cover  a  priest — for  some  unex- 
plained reason  in  full  eucharistic  vestments 
— was  pointing  sternly  to  the  armour-plated 
door  of  a  grim  confessional,  while  a  trembling 
lady  in  a  large  picture  hat  shrunk  within. 

This  little  book  was  flanked  by  what  ap- 
peared to  be  a  semi- jocular  work  called  Who 
Said  Reredos  ?  and  bore  upon  its  cover  the 
already  distinguished  name  of  Samuel  Ham- 
lyn,  Jr.  The  eye  fell  upon  that  popular  pam- 
phlet in  a  wrapper  of  vivid  scarlet — now  in 
its  sixtieth  thousand — known  as  Bow  to  the 
" Altar"  and  Light  Bloody  Mary's  Torture 
Fires  Again. 

As  Soon  Pay  the  Devil  as  the  Priest  lay  by 
the  side  of  a  more  elaborately  bound  volume 
on  which  was  the  portrait  of  a  lady.  Be- 
neath the  picture  appeared  the  words  of  the 


148  A  Lost  Cause 

title,  My  Escape;  or,  How  I  Became  a  Pro- 
testant, by  Jane  Pritchett. 

Two  clerks  wrote  in  the  ledgers  on  the 
desks,  attended  to  visitors,  and  looked  after 
what  was  known  in  the  office  as  the  "counter 
trade" — to  distinguish  it  from  the  sale  of 
Protestant  literature  in  bulk,  which  was  man- 
aged direct  from  the  "Luther  League  Print- 
ing Works,  Hornham,  N." 

A  second  room  opening  into  the  general 
office  was  tenanted  by  the  assistant  secretary 
of  the  League,  Mr.  Samuel  Hamlyn,  Junior. 
Here  the  walls  were  decorated  with  scourges, 
horribly  knotted  and  thonged ;  ' '  D  isciplines , ' ' 
which  were  belts  and  armlets  of  sharp  iron 
prickles,  designed  to  wear  the  skin  of  the 
toughest  Ritualist  into  an  open  sore  after  three 
days'  wear.  There  were  also  two  hair  shirts, 
apparently  the  worse  for  wear,  and  a  locked 
bookcase  of  Ritualistic  literature  with  a  little 
index  expurgatorius  in  the  neat,  clerkly  writ- 
ing of  Sam  Hamlyn,  and  compiled  by  that 
gentleman  himself. 

In  this  chamber  of  horrors,  the  assistant 
secretary  delighted  to  move  and  have  his 
being,  and  three  or  four  times  a  day  it 
was  his  pleasing  duty  to  show  friends  of 
the  League  and  its  yearly  subscribers,  the 


Offices  of  the  "  Luther  League  "     149 

penitential  machinery  by  which  the  priest- 
ridden  public  was  secretly  invited  to  hoist 
itself  to  heaven. 

The  innermost  room  of  all  was  where  Mr. 
Hamlyn,  Senior,  himself  transacted  the  multi- 
farious and  growing  business  of  his  organi- 
sation. The  secretary  sat  at  a  large  roll-top 
desk,  and  a  substantial  safe  stood  at  his 
right  hand.  An  air  of  brisk  business  per- 
vaded this  sanctum.  The  directories,  alma- 
nacs, and  account-books  all  contributed  to  it, 
and  the  end  of  a  speaking-tube,  which  led  to 
the  outer  office,  was  clipped  to  the  arm  of  the 
revolving  chair. 

Three  portraits  adorned  the  wall.  From  a 
massive  gold  frame  the  features  of  that 
fiery  Protestant  virgin,  Miss  Pritchett,  stared 
blandly  down  into  the  room.  Opposite  it 
was  a  large  photograph  of  Mr.  Hamlyn  him- 
self, with  upraised  hand  and  parted  lips — in 
the  very  act  and  attitude  of  making  one  of 
his  now  familiar  protests.  The  third  in  this 
trio  of  Protestant  champions  was  a  drawing 
of  Martin  Luther  himself,  "representing  the 
Reformer,"  as  Mr.  Hamlyn  was  wont  to  say, 
"singing  for  joy  at  the  waning  power  of 
Rome."  The  artist  of  this  picture,  however, 
being  a  young  gentleman  of  convivial  tastes, 


150  A  Lost  Cause 

had  portrayed  the  "Nightingale  of  Wittem- 
berg"  in  a  merry  mood,  remembering,  per- 
haps, Carlyle's  remark,  "there  is  laughter  in 
this  Luther,"  or  perhaps — as  is  indeed  most 
probable — remembering  little  of  the  great 
man  but  his  authorship  of  the  ditty  that 
concludes : 

Who  loves  not  women,  wine,  and  song 
Will  be  a  fool  his  whole  life  long. 

Fortunately,  Mr.  Hamlyn,  whose  historical 
studies  had  been  extremely  restricted,  did 
not  know  of  this  effort — just  as  he  did  not 
know  that  to  the  end  of  his  life  the  student 
of  Erfurt  steadily  proclaimed  his  belief  in  the 
Real  Presence  in  the  Eucharist. 

About  ten  o'clock  on  a  grey,  cold  Novem- 
ber morning,  the  two  Hamlyns  arrived  at  the 
offices  of  the  Luther  League  together,  walked 
briskly  up  the  stairs,  and,  with  a  curt  "good 
morning"  to  the  clerks,  entered  the  inner- 
most room  together. 

People  who  had  known  the  father  and  son 
six  months  ago,  seeing  them  now,  would  have 
found  a  marked,  though  subtle,  difference  in 
both  of  them. 

They  were  much  better  dressed,  for  one 
thing.  The  frock-coats  were  not  made  in 


Offices  of  the  "  Luther  League  "     151 

Hornham,  the  silk  hats  were  glossy  and  with 
the  curly  brims  of  the  fashion.  Both  still 
suggested  a  more  than  nodding  acquaintance 
with  religious  affairs  in  their  costume,  some 
forms  of  Christianity  always  preferring  to 
evince  themselves  by  the  style  of  a  cravat  or 
the  texture  of  a  cloth. 

Confidence  had  never  been  lacking  in  either 
of  the  two,  but  now  the  sense  of  power  and 
success  had  increased  it,  and  had  also  im- 
posed a  certain  quietness  and  gravity  which 
impressed  people.  Here,  at  any  rate,  were 
two  men  of  affairs,  men  whose  names  were  be- 
ginning to  be  known  throughout  the  land, 
and  Mr.  Hamlyn's  manner  of  preoccupation 
and  thought  was  only  natural  after  all  in  one 
who  (as  his  son  would  remark  to  Protestant 
visitors)  "practically  held  the  fortunes  of  the 
Church  in  his  hands,  and  was  destroying  the 
Catholic  wolves  with  the  sword  of  Protestant 
Truth." 

The  two  men  took  off  their  overcoats  and 
hung  them  up.  Then  Mr.  Hamlyn,  from 
mere  force  of  old  habit,  pulled  at  his  cuffs— 
in  order  to  lay  them  aside  during  business 
hours.  Finding  that  he  could  not  withdraw 
them,  for  increasing  position  and  emolument 
had  seemed  to  necessitate  the  wearing  of  a 


i52  A  Lost  Cause 

white  shirt,  he  sat  down  with  a  half  sigh  for 
the  freedom  and  comfort  of  an  earlier  day 
and  began  to  open  the  large  pile  of  corre- 
spondence on  the  table  before  him. 

"We'll  take  the  cash  first,  Sam,"  he  said, 
pulling  a  small  paper-knife  from  a  drawer. 

Sam  opened  a  note-book  in  which  the  first 
rough  draughts  of  matter  relating  to  this  most 
important  subject  were  entered,  preparatory 
to  being  copied  out  into  one  of  the  ledgers  in 
the  outer  office. 

Hamlyn  began  to  slit  up  the  letters  with  a 
practised  hand.  Those  that  contained  the 
sinews  of  war  he  read  with  a  running  com- 
ment, others  were  placed  in  a  basket  for 
further  consideration. 

" '  Well-wisher,'  five  shillings ; '  Well-wisher, ' 
£2  o  o,  by  cheque,  Sam.  'Ethel  and  her 
sisters,'  ten  and  six — small  family  that,  I 
should  think!  'Protestant,'  five  pounds — a 
note,  Sam,  take  the  number.  It's  curious 
that  '  Protestant '  always  gives  most.  Yester- 
day seven  'Protestants'  totalled  up  to  four- 
teen, twelve,  six,  while  five  'Well-wishers' 
worked  out  at  slightly  under  three  shillings  a 
head.  What's  this?  Ah!  cheque  for  a 
guinea  and  a  letter  on  crested  paper!  Enter 
up  the  address  and  make  a  note  to  send  half 


Offices  of  the  "  Luther  League  "     153 

a  dozen  Bloody  Marys,  one  Miss  Pritchett's 
Escape,  and  a  few  Pay  the  Devils.  During  the 
last  week  or  two,  the  upper  classes  have  been 
rallying  to  the  flag.  They  're  the  people.  I  '11 
send  this  woman  the  ten-guinea  subscription 
form  and  ask  her  to  be  one  of  the  vice-presi- 
dents. Listen  here : 

MARGRAVINE  HOUSE, 
LEICESTER 

Lady  Johnson  begs  to  enclose  a  cheque  for  one 
guinea  to  aid  Mr.  Hamlyn  in  his  splendid  Crusade 
against  the  Ritualists.  She  would  be  glad  to  hear  full 
details  of  the  "Luther  League"  and  its  objects.  She 
wonders  why  Mr.  Hamlyn  has  confined  his  protests 
against  Romanism  in  the  guise  of  English  Churchman- 
ship  to  the  London  district,  and  would  point  out  that 
in  her  own  neighbourhood  there  is  a  hot-bed  of  Ritual- 
ism which  should  be  exposed." 

Sam  went  to  the  book  shelf  and  took  down 
a  Peerage.  "She's  the  wife  of  a  knight,"  he 
said,  "one  of  the  city  knights." 

"Probably  very  well  off,"  said  Mr.  Ham- 
lyn. "We'll  nail  her  for  the  Cause!  See 
that  the  books  go  off  at  once,  and  I  '11  write 
her  a  personal  letter  during  the  day." 

He  rubbed  his  hands  together  with  a  move- 
ment of  inexpressible  satisfaction.  His  keen 
face  was  lighted  up  with  the  pleasures  of 
power  and  success. 


154  A  Lost  Cause 

"She's  got  her  own  axe  to  grind,"  re- 
marked Sam.  "Had  a  flare-up  with  the 
local  parson,  I  expect." 

"Should  n't  wonder,"  replied  his  father  in- 
differently. "Here's  two  p.o.'s,  one  for 
seven  bob  and  one  for  three.  From  a  Wes- 
leyan  minister  at  Camborne  in  Cornwall.  I'll 
put  him  down  to  be  written  to  under  the 
local  helpers'  scheme.  His  prayers  '11  be  with 
us,  he  says!"  Mr.  Sam  sniffed  impatiently 
as  he  wrote  down  the  sum  in  his  book. 

In  a  few  more  minutes,  the  contributions 
were  all  booked  up  and  the  Church  of  Eng- 
land— as  represented  by  these  two  eminent 
laymen — was  bulwarked  against  the  enemies 
to  the  extent  of  some  seventeen  pounds. 

"Now,"  said  Mr.  Hamlyn,  "let's  take  the 
press-cuttings  next."  He  opened  a  large 
envelope. 

A  day  or  two  before  Mr.  Hamlyn  had  varied 
his  pleasant  little  habit  of  turning  up  during 
the  most  solemn  moments  of  a  church  service 
and  brawling  until  he  was  ejected  with  more 
or  less  force,  being  brought  up  at  a  police- 
court  a  day  or  two  afterwards  and  paying  the 
fine  imposed  upon  him  with  a  cheque  from 
Miss  Pritchett.  During  the  blessing  of  a  new 
peal  of  bells  in  a  provincial  cathedral,  he  had 


Offices  of  the  "  Luther  League  "     155 

risen  and  read  a  paper  of  protest.  He  had 
read  the  paper  in  a  low,  hurried  voice,  and  the 
disturbance  had  been  purely  local  and  attracted 
but  little  attention  in  the  huge  building.  In 
a  moment,  almost,  the  secretary  of  the  Luther 
League  had  been  conducted  to  the  door  of  the 
building  by  vigilant  vergers. 

But  the  commotion  in  the  press  next  morn- 
ing had  been  enormous.  Lurid  reports  of 
this  great  protest  appeared  in  leaded  type, 
comment  of  every  kind  filled  the  papers,  and 
their  editors  were  inundated  with  letters  on 
the  subject.  As  an  editor  himself,  Mr.  Ham- 
lyn  well  understood  the  interior  machinery  of 
a  newspaper  office,  and  was  perfectly  well 
acquainted  with  the  various  methods  by 
which  things  get  into  print.  He  began 
to  examine  the  cuttings  from  the  weekly 
papers  that  Durrant's  had  sent  him. 

"All  goes  on  well,"  he  said  at  length.  "It 
really  is  astonishing  the  space  they  give  us! 
Who'd  have  thought  it  six  months  ago! 
Don't  they  go  for  the  League  in  some  of 
them!  Just  listen  to  this,  it's  the  finish  of  a 
column  in  Vigilance: 

"'.  .  .  and  I  shall  therefore  await  the 
publication  of  the  promised  balance-sheet  of 
this  precious  "League"  with  more  than  usual 


156  A  Lost  Cause 

interest .  Such  an  indecent  and  futile  campaign 
as  this  deserves  to  be  thoroughly  scrutinised. ' ' 

"That's  nasty,  Pa,"  said  Sam. 

"It  don't  matter  in  the  least.  Our  League 
is  perfectly  honest  and  above-board,  thank 
goodness!  We  shall  publish  the  balance- 
sheet,  of  course.  We  are  doing  a  great  and 
glorious  work  for  Hengland,  and  the  labourer 
is  worthy  of  his  hire.  We  are  perfectly  justi- 
fied in  taking  our  salaries.  What  does  a  par- 
son do  ?  And,  besides  no  one  reads  Vigilance 
that's  likely  to  give  Protestant  campaigns 
a  penny.  It's  a  society  paper.  Religious 
people  don't  see  it." 

"Quite  so.  And  all  the  Protestant  papers 
are  with  us;  that's  the  great  thing." 

"Exactly,  even  the  old  established  evan- 
gelical papers  like  the  Church  Recorder  dare  n't 
say  anything  against  us.  You  see  our  adver- 
tisements are  worth  such  a  lot  to  'em!  Half 
the  Low  Church  papers  can't  pay  their 
way,  the  big  advertisers  won't  look  at  them. 
All  the  money  goes  to  the  Church  Standard 
and  the  other  Ritualistic  rags .  The  Standard '  s 
one  of  the  best  paying  properties  in  London. 
So  the  Low  Church  papers  can't  do  without  us. 
Wait  a  year,  Sam,  and  we'll  have  our  own 
paper,  put  in  some  Fleet  Street  hack  as  editor, 


Offices  of  the  "  Luther  League  "     157 

publish  at  a  separate  office,  and  charge  the 
account  what  we  like  for  our  own  articles." 

"Our  position  is  practically  unassailable,  as 
far  as  I  can  see." 

"It's  just  that,  my  boy — as  long  as  people 
send  in  the  money.  But  gradually  we  shall 
find  London  getting  dry.  It's  all  right  now 
that  the  boom's  on,  but  the  novelty  of  the 
thing  will  wear  off  after  a  bit.  And  what  we 
want  is  to  get  ourselves  so  strong  that  the 
League  will  go  on  for  ever!  Now,  I  look  on  it 
in  this  way:  Much  as  I  'ate  the  Ritualists 
and  love  true  Henglish  Protestantism" — Mr. 
Hamlyn's  face  grew  full  of  fervour  as  he  said 
this — "much  as  I  'ate  Romanising  tricks  and 
such,  I'm  jolly  well  certain  that  neither  we 
nor  any  one  else  is  going  to  make  much  differ- 
ence to  them!  They're  too  strong,  Sam. 
You'll  find  a  red-hot  Ritualist  would  give  up 
his  arms  and  legs  for  his  carryings-on.  Ritu- 
alism 's  getting  stronger  and  stronger.  They  've 
got  the  best  men  for  parsons,  and  you  see 
those  chaps  are  n't  in  it  for  their  own  game, 
as  a  rule.  They  live  like  paupers  and  give 
all  they've  got  away.  Well,  that  gives  'em 

grip." 

"Silly  fools,"  said  Sam  contemptuously. 
"Poor  deluded  tools  of  Rome,"  said  Mr. 


158  A  Lost  Cause 

Hamlyn,  who,  now  that  his  great  mission  was 
an  accomplished  fact,  was  really  beginning 
to  believe  in  it  himself.  "Well,  my  point  is 
this:  Ritualism  will  never  stop.  It's  too 
well  organised,  and  the  clergy  are  too  well 
educated.  And  most  of  'em  are  'class'  too. 
It  all  tells." 

"Well,  then,  if  our  efforts  aren't  going 
to  do  any  good,  in  a  year  or  so  the  public 
will  notice  that,  and  the  public  will  stop 
subscribing." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,  Sam,  you  don't  see  as 
deep  as  I  do.  As  long  as  we  keep  the  question 
prominent,  it  will  be  all  right.  First  of  all, 
we  shall  always  get  the  Nonconformist  con- 
tribution. In  every  town,  the  Nonconformist 
minister  can  be  trusted  to  stir  up  people 
against  a  Ritualistic  'priest, 'especially if  he's 
vowed  to  celibacy.  Married  ones  get  on  bet- 
ter. But  what  I'm  coming  to  is  this:  All 
over  Hengland  there  are  parishes  where  the 
vicar  is  more  or  less  of  a  Romaniser.  But 
he's  personally  liked,  perhaps,  or  no  one 
makes  the  protest.  But  in  every  parish,  ex- 
perience shows  there 's  two  or  three  prominent 
folk  who  hate  the  vicar.  Now,  where  there  's 
a  spark  a  flame  can  be  got.  It's  all  very 
well  to  go  and  protest  in  a  parish  where 


Offices  of  the  "  Luther  League  "     159 

there's  a  strong  feeling  against  Ritualism — 
like  St.  Elwyn's,  for  example.  But  think  of 
the  hundreds  of  parishes  where  people  jog 
along  quite  content,  not  knowing  the  dark- 
ness in  which  they're  groping!  Now,  we'll 
stir  these  places  up,  we  '11  raise  the  flag  of  the 
League  in  places  which  have  been  going  along 
quiet  and  peaceable  for  years.  There  won't 
be  a  church  from  which  we  can't  get  some 
people  away.  The  Luther  League  shall  be- 
come a  household  word  from  John  o'  Groat's 
to  Land's  End." 

"Good  scheme,  Father,  if  you  can  do  it. 
But  think  of  the  work,  and  think  of  the  risks 
of  letting  any  one  else  into  the  League.  We 
might  find  ourselves  in  the  second  place  some 
day." 

"Not  at  all,  Sam.  Not  as  I've  worked  it 
out.  You  ought  to  know  that  I  never  start 
anything  without  going  careful  into  the 
details." 

"Sorry,  Father.     Let's  have  the  plan." 

"  I  'm  going  to  start  a  band  of  '  Luther  Lec- 
turers'  to  carry  Protestant  Truth  into  the 
'idden  places.  I  'm  beginning  with  six  young 
fellows  I've  got.  They'll  travel  all  over  the 
country,  holding  open-air  meetings  of  agita- 
tion, with  a  collection  for  the  League — making 


160  A  Lost  Cause 

public  protests  in  such  churches  as  I  give  the 
order  to  be  gone  for,  and  lecturing  on  what 
Ritualism  really  is.  Now,  these  chaps  will 
have  two  lectures.  I've  had  'em  written  al- 
ready. One's  on  the  Mass,  another's  on  the 
confessional, — hot  Protestant  stuff.  They'll 
go  like  wild  fire.  The  young  men  11  learn 
these  lectures  off  by  heart  and  deliver  'em 
with  local  allusions  to  the  vicars  of  the  par- 
ishes as  they  come  to.  I've  got  a  supply  of 
the  illegal  wafers  as  the  Ritualists  use  for  the 
Lord's  Supper.  Each  lecturer '11  have  one  or 
two  to  show  in  the  meetings.  He'll  pull  it 
out  and  show  the  poor  deluded  people  the 
god  of  flour  and  water  their  priests  tell  'em 
to  worship.  There's  lots  of  real  humour  in 
the  lectures.  They  '11  fire  the  popular  imagina- 
tion. Every  crowd  likes  to  hear  a  parson 
abused.  I  got  the  idea  of  humour  and  fun  in 
the  lectures  from  the  Salvation  Army.  You 
see,  we  want  to  reach  the  class  of  folk  as 
don't  mind  standing  round  a  street-corner 
meeting  and  listening.  The  Army  makes  it 
pay  wonderfully!  But  they  only  attack  sin. 
They  don't  bother  what  a  man  does  as  long 
as  he's  good.  We're  attacking  Rome  in  the 
Henglish  Church,  and  it's  remarkable  what  a 
lot  of  ridiculous  things  and  points  I've  got 


Offices  of  the  "  Luther  League  "     161 

into  these  lectures.  There's  one  thing,  for 
instance,  that'll  keep  all  a  crowd  on  the  grin 
— I  mean  the  directions  to  a  'priest'  if  an 
insect  gets  into  the  'consecrated'  wine.  It 
has  to  be  burnt.  Can't  you  see  the  lecturer 
with  his  'Now,  my  friends,  I  ask  you  what  a 
poor  little  spider's  done  to  be  used  like  that?' 
It's  all  an  un worked  mine!  And  you  see 
there's  no  answer  to  it!  A  Ritualist  'priest' 
who  comes  to  argue — of  course,  discussion 
will  be  invited — is  bound  to  get  left.  He'll 
be  so  solemn  and  that,  that  the  ordinary 
man  in  the  street  won't  understand  a  word 
he's  driving  at.  My  men '11  win  every  time. 
You'll  see." 

"As  usual,  Pa,"  said  Sam,  "you've  hit  on 
a  good  thing.  It'll  extend  the  League  won- 
derful. But  what  about  your  men — where  '11 
you  get  'em?  and  what  guarantee  will  you 
have  that  they  won't  rob  the  League?" 

"Oh,  that's  all  thought  out.  I  shall  have 
quite  young  chaps  and  pay  them  about 
eighteen  shillings  a  week  and  travelling  ex- 
penses. Each  two  or  three  days  they  '11  have 
to  send  in  reports  as  to  the  work,  and  each 
week  forward  the  collection.  I  shall  try,  even- 
tually, to  get  real  earnest  young  men  who 
believe  in  our  glorious  Henglish  Protestant 


1 62  A  Lost  Cause 

'eritage.  They  won't  rob  us.  I  shall  get 
smart  young  chaps  with  plenty  of  bounce 
and  go,  but  not  much  education.  It's  not 
wanted  for  popular  street-corner  work.  You 
get  a  Ritualist  parson  coming  to  try  and 
answer  one  of  my  chaps — take  the  crucifix 
question,  now.  My  man  will  talk  about 
Popish  idols  and  that — it's  all  in  the  lecture 
— and  all  the  parson  will  say  is  that  a  crucifix 
is  legal  in  the  Church  of  Hengland — I  believe, 
as  a  strict  matter  of  fact,  it  is.  Then  my  man 
turns  round  and  tells  the  crowd  that  a  crucifix 
is  nothing  but  a  dolly  on  a  stick — he  gets  the 
laugh,  see?  The  'priest'  can't  explain  all  his 
humbugging  reverence  and  that  in  an  open- 
air  meeting,  with  one  of  my  chaps  ready  with 
a  joke  every  time  he  speaks.  I've  got  four 
out  of  my  six  men  already,  and  if  the  thing 
hums  as  I  expect,  I'll  put  twenty  or  thirty 
in  the  field  at  once.  They're  easy  found! 
There's  lots  of  young  chaps  connected  with 
chapels  that  would  far  rather  tour  the  country 
attracting  attention  wherever  they  go,  and  do 
nothing  but  agitate,  than  work  hard!  There 's 
young  Moffat,  Peter  Moffat's  son.  He's 
a  plumber,  but  he  'ates  work.  He's  got 
cheek  for  twenty,  and  he  '11  do  no  end  of  good. 
As  for  the  cost,  why,  the  men  will  pay  for 


Offices  of  the  "  Luther  League  "     163 

themselves  over  and  over  again.  They'll  be 
well  supplied  from  the  central  office — ex- 
tracts from  the  papers  and  so  on — they  '11  take 
local  halls  and  advertise  in  local  papers.  I 
shall  expect  that  each  man,  if  he 's  any  good 
at  all,  will  pay  all  his  own  expenses  each  week 
and  forward  a  clear  two  pounds  to  me!  A 
man  that  can't  do  that,  at  least,  with  such 
backing  as  we  can  give  him  and  such  a  splen- 
did war-cry — well,  I  would  n't  give  twopence 
for  him." 

"I  see  it  all  clear  now,"  answered  Sam,  a 
flush  of  excitement  coming  into  his  face. 
' '  And  besides  the  money  and  extension  of  the 
League  there  will  be  splendid  opportunities 
for  you  and  me  to  run  down  now  and  then 
to  support  our  men  and  get  an  'oliday — take 
Brighton,  for  instance!  It's  full  of  Ritual 
ists.  A  couple  of  men  could  spend  a  month 
there." 

"And  take  from  two  to  three  hundred 
pounds,  I  should  think,"  said  the  secretary, 
thoughtfully,  "besides  dealing  an  'orrid 
blow  to  the  wolves  in  the  fold  of  the  Protes- 
tant Henglish  Church.  We  '11  have  some  good 
protests  in  Brighton!  Then,  when  our  lec- 
turers are  fined  for  brawling,  we'll  instruct 
them  not  to  pay  the  -fine,  but  to  go  to  prison 


1 64  A  Lost  Cause 

for  a  fortnight  instead!  Of  course,  it'll  be 
considered  'andsomely  in  their  salaries.  Then 
we'll  send  them  round  the  country  with  a 
magic  lantern  and  a  rousing  lecture.  'Im- 
prisoned by  the  Romanisers,'  'In  Gaol  for  the 
Protestant  Faith!'  or  something  like  that." 

"That's  fine,"  said  Sam,  in  an  ecstasy  of 
enjoyment.  "Why,  Father,  the  whole  thing 
grows  like  a  snowball!  It  must  grow." 

"Didn't  I  tell  you,  six  months  ago?"  said 
Mr.  Hamlyn.  "Look  at  us  then  and  now! 
What  were  we  then  ?  Nothing,  'ardly .  What 
are  we  now?  Directors  of  a  big  concern,  be- 
coming known  all  over  Hengland,  drawing 
good  salaries,  and  with  all  the  pleasure  of 
bossing  a  big  show.  Look  at  the  printing 
account  the  works  have  against  the  League, 
look  at  our  expenses  when  we've  got  thirty 
or  more  Luther  lecturers  all  over  the  country! 
And  yet  there 's  nothing  risky  in  it.  Nothing 
at  all.  No  bogus-company  promoting,  no 
snide  article  to  sell.  We've  no  limited-lia- 
bility company  act  to  fear,  no  treasury  in- 
vestigations. We  stand  upon  solid  rock  and 
nobody  can't  touch  us!  And  why?  Because 
we  are  championing  the  freedom  of  the  peo- 
ple's religion,  we  are  fighting  for  glorious 
Protestantism! " 


Offices  of  the  "  Luther  League  "     165 

"Fancy  no  one  thinking  of  it  before!" 
said  Sam. 

Mr.  Hamlyn's  shrewd,  able  face  beamed 
with  merriment.  "Providence,"  he  said, 
"chooses  its  own  instruments.  Now,  then, 
send  me  in  the  shorthand  clerk;  I  shall  be  at 
work  all  day.  To-night  I  address  a  public 
meeting  in  the  'Olborn  Town  Hall,  and  be- 
fore ten  I  'm  due  to  sup  with  Miss  Pritchett. 
She  wants  something  definite  done  in  St. 
Elwyn's,  and  I  must  think  out  a  slap  in  the 
face  for  Blantyre." 

"I'll  run  round  to  the  bank,"  said  Sam, 
"and  pay  this  morning's  little  lot  into  the 
general  fund,  and  post  the  statement  to  the 
treasurer." 

"Right,  my  son.     What  was  it?" 

"Seventeen  pounds  odd,  Pa." 

"Protestants  are  waking  up,"  said  Mr. 
Hamlyn,  "our  work  for  the  Cause  has  a  bless- 
ing upon  it." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  PRIVATE  CONFERENCE  AT  MIDNIGHT  A  YEAR 
LATER 

IT  was  late  at  night  in  Father  Blantyre's 
study  at  Hornham.     King  and  Stephens 
had  gone  to  bed,  but  the  vicar  sat  with  Dr. 
Hibbert,  his  churchwarden. 

Both  men  were  smoking.  By  the  side  of 
the  doctor  stood  a  modest  peg  of  whiskey ;  the 
priest  contented  himself  with  a  glass  of  soda- 
water.  The  candles  by  which  the  room  was 
lighted  showed  that  Mr.  Blantyre's  face  was 
very  worn  and  weary.  He  seemed  a  man  who 
was  passing  through  a  time  of  stress  and  storm. 
The  bronzed  countenance  of  the  doctor  wore 
its  usual  aspect  of  serenity  and  strength. 
Both  men  had  been  talking  together  ear- 
nestly for  a  great  part  of  the  night.  A  true 
and  intimate  friendship  obtained  between 
them,  and  it  was  a  plan  that  fortnightly  they 
should  meet  thus  and  make  confidences  to 
each  other  about  that  which  they  held  so 
dear. 

166 


A  Private  Conference  at  Midnight     167 

"It  is  just  a  year,"  Blantyre  said,  "since 
Hamlyn  committed  his  first  sacrilege  in  our 
own  church." 

"The  time  goes  very  fast,"  Hibbert  an- 
swered, "yet  look  at  the  changes!  The  man 
has  become  almost  a  power  in  the  land,  or  at 
least  he  seems  to  be.  It  is  his  talent  for 
organisation.  It's  supreme.  Look  how  this 
wretched  '  League '  has  grown.  It  has  its  spies 
and  agents  everywhere,  its  committee  has 
names  of  importance  among  its  members,  the 
amount  of  money  that  rolls  into  Hamlyn' s 
coffers  must  be  very  large." 

"I'm  afraid  so.  But  think  of  the  turmoil 
and  unrest  one  man  can  create — the  misery 
and  pain  churchmen  feel  every  day  now  as 
they  see  the  jocose  blasphemies  of  these  people 
and  see  the  holiest  things  held  up  to  an  ut- 
terly vulgar  and  soulless  ridicule.  It's  a 
wrong  thought,  Hibbert,  perhaps,  but  I  do 
sometimes  long  to  be  out  of  it  all,  to  start 
afresh  on  such  new  work  as  God  may  give 
one  in  another  life!" 

"Such  a  thought  comes  to  all  of  us  at 
times,  of  course.  But  it's  physical  mainly. 
It 's  merely  a  languor  of  overstrain  and  a  weak 
nervous  state.  You  know  yourself  how  such 
thoughts  come  chiefly  at  night,  and  how  after 


1 68  A  Lost  Cause 

your  tub,  in  the  morning  light  and  air  they 
all  go." 

"Materialist!  But  you're  right,  Hibbert, 
quite  right." 

"You  go  on  taking  the  physic  I  've  sent  you 
and  you  '11  pick  up  soon.  But,  of  course,  this 
is  a  very  trying  time.  The  parish  is  in  a 
constant  turmoil.  These  Sunday  evening 
Protestant  meetings  when  folk  are  coming 
out  of  church  are  a  bad  nuisance.  That's  a 
new  move,  too. " 

"Yes.  They  found  that  the  hooligan  riot- 
provoking  business  was  very  simply  dealt 
with,  and  so  they  are  trying  this.  It  is  that 
poor,  silly  old  creature,  Miss  Pritchett.  The 
Hamlyns  are  hand  and  glove  with  her.  I 
suppose  she  is  sincere,  poor  old  lady!  I  hope 
so.  She  was  an  ardent  Catholic,  and  I  hope 
she  does  honestly  believe  in  the  new  substitute 
for  the  Faith.  I  am  very  sorry  for  her." 

"I'm  less  charitable,  Blantyre;  she's  a 
spiteful  old  cat.  I  am  not  violating  any  pro- 
fessional confidence  in  telling  you  that  she 
won't  live  long  if  she  goes  on  living  in  the 
thick  of  this  noisy  Protestant  agitation.  I 
do  my  best  for  her,  of  course,  but  she  won't 
do  as  she's  told." 

"She's  a  nuisance,"  the  vicar  said,  "but 


A  Private  Conference  at  Midnight     169 

I  hope  she  won't  go  yet.  I  should  like  to 
make  friends  with  her  before  she  dies.  And 
I  should  like  her  to  die  in  the  Faith." 

"She  won't  do  that,  I'm  afraid,  Blantyre. 
She  has  gone  too  far  away  from  the  Church. 
But,  now,  what  do  you  honestly  think  the 
effect  of  this  Luther  crusading  business  has 
been  on  the  Church." 

"Well,  I  think  there  can  be  no  doubt  of 
that.  I  was  talking  it  over  with  Lord  Hud- 
dersfield  last  week  and  we  both  agreed.  The 
Church  has  gained  enormously.  People  who 
were  simply  attracted  by  ceremonial  and 
what  was  novel  to  them  have  gone  out,  in  a 
restless  endeavour  to  find  some  new  thing. 
But  that  is  all.  Our  congregations  here,  our 
communicants,  have  grown  very  much.  There 
is  a  deeper  spiritual  fervour  among  us,  I  am 
sure  of  it.  No  churchman  has  taken  Hamlyn 
seriously  for  a  moment.  He  has  failed  in 
every  attempt  he  has  made  to  interfere  with 
our  teaching  or  our  ceremonial,  failed  abso- 
lutely. All  his  legal  cases  have  fallen  through, 
or  proved  abortive,  or  are  dragging  on  towards 
extinction.  The  days  of  ritual  prosecutions 
are  utterly  dead.  All  the  harm  Hamlyn  has 
done  the  Church  itself  is  to  weary  our  ears 
and  hearts  with  a  great  noise  and  tumult, 


1 70  A  Lost  Cause 

with  floods  of  empty  talk.  He  has  stung  our 
nerves,  he  hasn't  penetrated  to  any  vital 
part." 

"Yes,  that  is  so.  It  needs  more  than  the 
bello wings  of  such  a  man,  more  than  the 
hostility  of  people  who  are  not  members  of 
the  Church,  to  hurt  her  in  any  serious  degree. 
The  man  and  his  friends  have  a  large  rabble 
behind  them,  but  they  can  only  parade 
through  the  streets  of  England  beating  their 
drums  and  rattling  their  collecting  boxes. 
The  Church  is  safe." 

"It  is.  And  yet  in  another  way,  all  this 
business  is  doing  fearful  harm  to  the  morale 
of  the  country,  limited  though  it  may  be. 
The  mass  of  non-Christian  people  who  might 
be  gathered  into  the  Church  are  looking  down 
upon  these  unseemly  contests  with  a  sneer. 
They  feel  that  there  can  be  little  good  or 
truth  in  a  system  of  philosophy  which  seems 
to  them  to  be  nothing  but  an  arena  of  brawl- 
ing fools.  Therein  comes  the  harm.  Ham- 
lyn  is  n't  injuring  church  people,  he  is  giving 
contraband  of  war  to  infidelity.  And  just 
at  this  particular  moment  in  the  world's  his- 
tory this  is  extremely  dangerous.  In  thirty 
years,  the  danger  will  have  passed  away; 
to-day,  it  is  great." 


A  Private  Conference  at  Midnight     171 

"And  why  particularly  at  this  moment?" 

"Why,  because  the  world  is  utterly  chang- 
ing with  extraordinary  rapidity.  That  world 
which  once  adjusted  itself  so  sweetly  to  our 
faith  is  vanishing,  is  gone.  The  new  world 
which  is  arriving  is  unassimilated,  unsorted, 
unexplained.  The  light  hasn't  entered  it 
yet,  it  does  n't  know  how  to  correspond. 
The  trouble  lies  in  that.  The  new  politics, 
science,  philosophy,  art,  are  only  social  habits. 
And  these  will  not  talk  our  language  yet,  or 
confess  Christ.  And  this  squabble  and  tur- 
moil will  retard  the  new  adjustment  for  years, 
because  outsiders  won't  even  trouble  to  ex- 
amine our  claims  or  make  experience  of  our 
system.  And  people  are  glad  of  any  excuse  to 
ignore  or  at  least  avoid  Christianity.  You  see, 
a  new  religion  has  sprung  up." 

"Yes  — goon." 

"It  is  the  religion  of  pleasure,  excitement, 
nervous  thrill  bought  at  any  cost.  Renan, 
who  had  eyes  and  used  them,  saw  that.  He 
has  given  us  the  hint  in  his  Abbess  of  Jouarre. 
'Were  the  human  race  quite  certain,'  he  says, 
'that  in  two  or  three  days  the  world  would 
come  to  an  end,  the  instinct  of  pleasure' — 
I' amour  is  his  word — 'would  break  out  into 
a  sort  of  frenzy;  in  the  presence  of  death, 


172  A  Lost  Cause 

sure  and  sudden,  nature  alone  would  speak, 
and  very  strange  scenes  would  follow.  The 
social  order  is  preserved  by  restraint;  but 
restraint  depends  upon  a  belief  in  a  here- 
after.' And  already,  'If  a  man  dies,  shall 
he  live  again  ? '  is  the  burden  of  a  new  soliloquy 
on  the  lips  of  a  new  Hamlet.  Faith  is  be- 
coming more  and  more  an  act,  a  habit,  of 
heroism.  So  you  see  the  harm  Hamlyn  and 
his  gang  are  indirectly  doing.  But  do  you 
know  where  it  seems  to  me  the  great  coun- 
teracting influence  to  his  work  lies  at  the 
moment?" 

"Where?" 

"You  will  wonder  to  hear  me  say  so,  but  I 
firmly  think  for  the  moment  it  lies  in  the 
ranks^  and  true  love  of  our  Lord,  of  the  pious 
Evangelical  Party  in  the  Church!  They  are 
Catholic  without  knowing  it.  They  think, 
and  think  sincerely,  that  the  forms  the  Church 
has  appointed,  some  of  her  Sacraments  even, 
obscure  the  soul's  direct  communion  with 
God.  They  are  not  in  line  with  us  yet.  But 
there  is  a  sterling  and  vivid  Christianity 
among  them.  There  is  a  personal  adoration 
of  Jesus  which  is  strong  and  sweet,  a  living, 
wonderful  thing.  And,  you  see,  all  this  sec- 
tion of  the  Church  is  exempt  from  the  attacks 


A  Private  Conference  at  Midnight     173 

of  the  extreme  Protestants — who  seem  them- 
selves to  have  hardly  any  Christianity  at  all. 
Nor  do  the  really  pious  Evangelicals  approve 
of  this  civil  war.  They  won't  be  mixed  up  in 
it.  They  are  far  too  busy  doing  good  works 
and  preparing  themselves  for  the  next  world 
to  join  in  these  rowdy  processions  of  the 
shallow,  the  ill-informed,  or  the  malevolent. 
They  don't  approve  of  us,  of  course,  but  they 
have  no  public  quarrel  with  what  they  see  is 
substantially  powerful  for  good.  Since  Ham- 
lyn's  brigade  has  been  throwing  mud  at  us, 
and  we,  of  course,  have  defended  ourselves  to 
the  best  of  our  ability,  the  minds  of  those  who 
are  eager  to  justify  their  adhesion  to  the  re- 
ligion of  pleasure  cannot,  at  least  if  they  have 
any  logic  or  sincerity,  avoid  a  consideration 
of  the  quiet  Evangelicals." 

"It  is  a  new  idea  to  me,"  said  the  doctor, 
refilling  his  pipe,  "but  I  suppose  you  are 
right.  They  despise  the  whole  business  of 
agitation,  and  yet  don't  make  it  a  pretext  as 
the  rationalists  are  glad  to  do.  The  whole 
thing  is  a  miserable  business!  What  annoys 
me,  Vicar,  is  the  facility  with  which  a  rowdy, 
ignorant  man  of  the  lower  classes  has  been 
able  to  make  himself  a  force." 

"It  is  hard.     But  one  must  remember  that 


174  A  Lost  Cause 

however  sincere  he  is — and  I  know  nothing 
against  his  personal  character — he  only  ap- 
peals to  the  ignorant  and  rowdy.  Have  you 
seen  his  new  leaflet?" 

"No,  I  think  not.     What  is  it?" 

"It  came  by  post  last  night;  apparently  the 
whole  district  is  being  circularised.  Really, 
the  thing  is  quite  a  curiosity.  I  will  read  you 
a  few  paragraphs." 

He  opened  a  drawer  and  took  a  small 
pamphlet  from  it,  which  was  headed  "THE 
HORNHAM  SCANDAL."  "Listen  to  this: 

"'At  St.  Elwyn's,  Hornham,'  writes  a  lady 
member  of  the  Luther  League,  '  I  recently  at- 
tended the  so-called  "High  Mass."  There 
were  three  priests  in  vestments;  there  were 
eight  candles  burning  at  eleven  o'clock  on  the 
altar;  there  was  incense  and  all  the  appur- 
tenances of  a  Roman  Mass ;  the  men  bore  that 
ignorant  and  unwashed  appearance  which  is 
commonly  to  be  seen  at  any  time  in  an  Italian 
church.  At  times  they  crossed  themselves, 
but  often  they  seemed  to  forget,  and  then 
suddenly  to  remember.  I  stayed  as  long 
as  I  could,  but  it  was  not  long,  for  I  was 
sick  at  heart  at  the  thought  of  what  our 
country  is  being  mercilessly  dragged  into, 
and  that  it  is  for  services  of  this  description 


A  Private  Conference  at  Midnight     175 

that  we  hear  from  time  to  time  our  foolish 
girls  exclaim,  ' '  How  I  hate  the  name  of  Pro- 
testant." '  " 

"Elegant  style,"  said  the  doctor  dryly, 
"but  to  call  our  congregation  'unwashed'  is 
not  only  perfectly  untrue,  but  a  little  touch  of 
feminine  spite  that  shows  the  spirit  in  which 
these  crusades  are  carried  on.  I  wonder  how 
many  of  the  five  thousand  were  unwashed 
when  our  Lord  fed  them!" 

"That  is  a  quotation,"  said  the  vicar, 
"now  hear  the  robuster  prose  of  the  great 
Hamlyn  himself: 

"It  appears  that  there  are  literally  no 
lengths  of  lawlessness,  ecclesiastical  insubordi- 
nation, blasphemous  poperies,  or  unscriptural 
profanation  of  places  of  worship  to  which 
Ritualistic  innovators  will  not  proceed. 
Among  other  Romanising  acts  of  the  vicar  of 
St.  Elwyn's,  the  notorious  "Father"  Blan- 
tyre,  is  a  direction  to  some  of  his  congregation 
who  attend  the  Lord's  Supper.  These  mem- 
bers have  taken  the  bread  from  him — or 
rather  the  superstitious  wafer  which  is  sub- 
stituted for  bread — with  the  thumb  and 
finger.  "Oh,  no,"  says  our  priest,  "you must 
hold  out  your  hand  for  it."  These  are  the 
"instructions"  of  "Father"  Blantyre  to  those 


176  A  Lost  Cause 

about  to  attend  the  Lord's  Supper  for  the 
first  time  after  confirmation: 

" '  As  soon  as  the  priest  comes  up  to  you,  hold 
up  your  hands  as  high  as  the  chin,  so  that  he 
may  place  the  Blessed  Sacrament  in  your  hand 
while  he  says  the  words,  The  Body  of  our  Lord. 

"'But  we  ask  our  Protestant  brethren 
how,  if  the  minister — falsely  called  "priest" 
— places  the  bread  in  the  hand  of  the  com- 
municant, how  the  latter  can  comply  with  the 
direction  "take  this"?  Let  England  awake 
to  this  "priestly"  and  insidious  Popish 
plan.'" 

"Well!"  said  the  doctor,  "of  all  the—" 
Words  failed  him. 

"Isn't  it  vulgar  and  childish!"  said  the 
vicar,  "but  how  admirably  adapted  to  suit 
the  ignorant  folk  who  will  read  it.  The  adroit 
substitution  of  a  colloquial  use  of  the  word 
'  take '  for  its  real  meaning  of  '  receive ' !  And 
then  the  continual  effort  to  degrade  the  Mass, 
to  rob  it  of  its  mystery  and  holy  character — 
it 's  clever,  it 's  subtle.  Hamlyn  is  a  man  of 
parts!" 

"Is  there  any  more?" 

"Oh,  yes,  plenty.  So  far  I  have  only  read 
the  mildest  parts.  Here  is  a  distorted  simile 
which  I  should  hardly  have  thought  even 


A  Private  Conference  at  Midnight     177 

Hamlyn  would  have  printed.  It  is  painful  to 
read: 

"'One  of  our  Luther  Lecturers  recently 
asked  a  poor,  deluded  young  female  who  is  in 
the  habit  of  attending  the  pantomime  at  St. 
Elwyn's  why  she  went  there.  The  poor,  de- 
luded creature  replied — doubtless  with  words 
put  into  her  mouth  by  her  "Father  Confes- 
sor"— that  its  "spirituality"  and  "devotion" 
attracted  her.  Ah!  Rome  and  Ritualism 
have  ever  known  how  to  appear  as  a  pure  and 
modest  virgin,  even  when  rotting  (to  use  the 
image  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  the  Word)  with 
fornication.  O  foolish  young  woman!  How 
have  you  been  bewitched  with  these  sorceries  ? 
A  clean  thing  is  to  be  got  of  an  unclean 
thing!'" 

The  doctor  ground  his  teeth.  ' '  I  wish  we  'd 
had  the  man  in  the  regiment!"  he  said. 
"Unclean!  I  'd  have  cleaned  the  brute!" 

The  vicar  sighed.  "Of  course  it  doesn't 
really  matter,"  he  said.  "This  sort  of  stuff 
carries  its  own  condemnation  with  it.  Still 
it  is  most  distressing.  It  does  wound  one 
deeply  to  hear  the  highest  and  holiest  things 
spoken  of  in  this  way.  All  my  people  feel  it. 
Some  of  them — poor  things — have  come  to 
me  weeping  to  hear  such  words — weeping  for 


178  A  Lost  Cause 

shame  and  sorrow.  Here  is  the  last  para- 
graph. The  pamphlet  concludes  with  a  fine 
flow  of  rhetoric,  and  an  invitation  to  me : 

'"The  late  Dr.  Parker  said:  "Popery  is  the 
vilest  blasphemy  out  of  hell.  It  is  the  enemy 
of  liberty ;  it  is  the  enemy  of  intelligence ;  it 
is  the  enemy  of  individuality,  of  conscience, 
and  responsibility;  it  is  the  supreme  wicked- 
ness of  the  world,  the  master  effort  of  the 
devil." 

"  'And  so  say  we.  Therefore,  honest,  Eng- 
lish, Protestant  people  of  Hornham,  look  to  it 
that  these  doings  in  your  midst  are  put  down 
with  a  stern  hand.  A  great  meeting  of  rate- 
payers will  shortly  be  held  in  the  Victoria 
Hall  under  the  auspices  of  the  Luther  League. 
A  lecture,  with  lime-light  views,  will  be  de- 
livered on  the  cloaked  and  hooded  Popery 
that  stalks  in  our  midst.  An  invitation  will 
be  extended  to  "Fathers"  Blantyre,  King, 
and  Stephens,  the  "Priests"  of  St.  Elwyn's 
church,  who  will  be  accommodated  with  seats 
upon  the  platform  if  they  care  to  come.  We 
of  the  Luther  League  invite  them  to  public 
controversy,  to  an  open  debate  upon  the  great 
questions  at  issue.  Will  they  be  present? 
Time  will  show.'" 

Hibbert  rose.     "Well,  it 's  time  we  were  in 


A  Private  Conference  at  Midnight     1 79 

bed,"  he  said.  "Good-night.  I  should  think 
over  that  sporting  offer  of  Hamlyn's  if  I  were 
you.  A  public  appearance  might  do  good. 
I  like  a  fight." 

"I  doubt  it,"  the  vicar  answered;  "still, 
it  may  be  worth  considering.  One  never 
knows.  One  does  n't  want  people  to  say  that 
one  is  afraid." 

"Good-night,  Vicar." 

"Good-night,  Hibbert.  Forget  all  about 
these  surface  worries  and  sleep  well." 

The  vicar  was  left  alone. 

He  took  a  letter  from  his  pocket.  It  was 
from  Lucy,  who  wrote  from  Park  Lane.  In 
the  letter,  she  said  that  she  purposed — if  he 
would  care  to  have  her — to  come  down  to 
Hornham  at  once  and  spend  some  months  at 
the  clergy-house. 

"  If  you  can  put  up  with  a  girl  for  a  time  in 
your  bachelor  stronghold!  I  'm  sick  to  death 
of  this  life;  it  has  lost  all  its  attractions  for 
me.  I  want  to  live,  not  play,  and  you,  my 
dear  old  boy,  will  show  me  the  way.  A  letter 
is  no  way — for  me — to  tell  you  of  my  thoughts. 
But  higher  things  than  of  old  are  working  in 
me.  St.  Elwyn's  calls  me,  it  seems  home;  I 
so  often  think  of  the  big  quiet  church  and  the 
ceaseless  activity  that  centres  round  it.  I 


1 86  A  Lost  Cause 

long  for  the  peace  there !  I  have  much  to  tell 
you,  much  to  consult  you  about,  and  I  am 
beginning  to  wonder  why  I  have  left  you 
alone  so  long.  Good-night,  dear." 

Putting  down  the  letter,  he  looked  at  the 
clock.  It  was  now  far  after  midnight,  and 
he  stayed  the  hand  that  was  about  to  raise 
the  glass  that  stood  on  the  table  beside  him. 

In  a  few  hours  it  would  be  dawn,  the  dawn 
when  in  the  dim  hour  he  daily  went  to  meet 
the  Lord  in  the  Eucharist.  How  wonderful 
that  was!  What  unending  joy  the  break  of 
day  had  for  this  good  man,  as  he  began  the 
ancient  and  mysterious  rite  of  the  Church! 
There,  there,  beside  the  altar,  there  was  peace! 
In  this  desert  world,  that  was  so  far  from 
Home,  there  was  always  that  daily  glimpse 
into  the  Unseen,  that  Communion  in  which 
dead  friends  and  great  angels  joined,  when 
the  Paraclete  came  to  the  weary,  sinful  hearts 
of  men  like  fire,  when  our  Lord  in  his  risen 
majesty  came  to  the  world  to  hearten  his 
soldiers,  to  fill  his  toiling  saints  with  power 
to  continue  to  the  end. 

If  only  the  whole  world  knew  and  realised 
this!  Sometimes  the  priest  thought  with  sim- 
ple wonder,  that  if  only  men  knew,  all  trouble 
and  sorrow  would  be  over.  To  him  the  ma- 


A  Private  Conference  at  Midnight     181 

terial  world  was  the  unreal  place,  the  dream, 
the  fable.  Daily  he  knew  that  the  Unseen 
was  ever  near,  close,  close! — how  blind  and 
sorrowful  the  world  was,  that  did  not  know 
or  care  for  Jesus. 

He  knelt  down  now  to  say  his  prayers.  He 
prayed  for  the  Church,  his  congregation,  for 
his  sister,  and  his  friends.  Then  he  prayed 
that  he  might  be  worthy  to  receive  the  Blessed 
Sacrament  at  dawn. 

And  then,  happy,  comforted,  and  at  peace, 
with  the  certainty  of  an  unseen  glory  all 
round  him,  with  august  watchers  to  shield  him 
through  the  night,  he  sought  his  couch  and 
slept  a  deep,  dreamless  sleep  with  crossed 
hands. 

"From  henceforth  let  no  man  trouble  me: 
for  I  bear  in  my  body  the  marks  of  the  Lord 
Jesus." 


CHAPTER  IX 

A    UNION    OF   FORCES 

IN  Hornham,  the  vast  majority  of  a  poor 
and  teeming  population  was  quite  with- 
out interest  in  any  religious  matter.  The 
chapels  of  the  various  sects  were  attended  by 
the  residuum,  the  congregations  at  St.  El- 
wyn's  were  large — to  the  full  holding  capa- 
city of  the  mother  church  and  the  smaller 
mission  building  —  and  a  fair  proportion  of 
people  worshipped  at  St.  Luke's,  the  only 
other  church  in  the  neighbourhood. 

Mr.  Carr,  the  vicar  of  St.  Luke's,  was  a  man 
of  about  thirty-five.  He  had  taken  a  good 
degree  at  Cambridge,  spent  a  few  years  in 
various  curacies,  and  had  been  appointed 
vicar  of  St.  Luke's,  Hornham,  which  was  in 
the  gift  of  an  Evangelical  body  known  as 
Simon's  Trustees,  about  four  years  before  Mr. 
Hamlyn  had  thrown  Hornham  into  its  present 
state  of  religious  war. 

The  vicar  of  St.  Luke's  was  a  man  of  con- 
siderable mental  power.  He  was  unmarried, 

182 


A  Union  of  Forces  183 

had  no  private  means,  and  lived  a  lonely, 
though  active,  life  in  his  small  and  ill-built 
vicarage.  In  appearance,  he  was  tall,  some- 
what thin,  and  he  wore  a  pointed,  close- 
cropped  beard  and  moustache.  His  face  was 
somewhat  melancholy,  but  when  he  was  moved 
or  interested,  the  smile  that  came  upon  it  was 
singularly  sweet.  In  the  ordinary  business  of 
life,  he  was  reserved  and  shy.  He  had  none  of 
the  genial  Irish  bonhomie  of  Blantyre,  the 
wholesome  breezy  boyishness  of  Stephens,  or 
the  grim  force  of  King.  He  had  a  "person- 
ality"— to  the  eye — but  he  failed  to  sustain 
the  impression  his  appearance  made  in  talk. 
He  was  of  no  use  in  a  drawing-room  and  very 
nearly  a  failure  in  any  social  gathering.  Those 
few  members  of  his  flock  with  whom,  now  and 
again,  he  had  to  enter  into  purely  social  rela- 
tions, said  of  him:  "Mr.  Carr  is  a  thorough 
gentleman,  but  the  poor  fellow  is  dreadfully 
shy.  He  wants  a  wife ;  perhaps  she  'd  liven 
him  up  a  bit." 

Such  was  the  man  in  private  life.  In  his 
clerical  duties,  as  a  priest — or,  as  he  would 
have  put  it,  a  pastor — his  personal  character 
was  sunk  and  merged  in  his  office  as  com- 
pletely as  that  of  Father  Blantyre  himself. 
His  sermons  were  full  of  earnest  exhortation, 


1 84  A  Lost  Cause 

his  private  ministrations  were  fervent  and  help- 
ful, and  there  was  a  power  in  his  ministry  that 
was  felt  by  all  with  whom  he  came  in  contact. 

He  was  distinctly  and  entirely  what  is 
known  as  an  "Evangelical,"  using  that  fine 
word  in  the  best  and  noblest  sense.  He  be- 
longed to  a  school  of  thought  which  is  rapidly 
becoming  merged  in  and  overlapped  by 
others,  sometimes  to  its  betterment,  but  more 
frequently  to  its  destruction,  but  which  stand- 
ing by  itself  is  a  powerful  force. 

He  did  not  realise  the  state  of  transition  in 
which  he  and  other  men  of  his  school  must 
necessarily  stand  to-day.  Their  position,  ad- 
mirable as  it  often  is,  is  but  a  compromise. 
He  did  not  as  yet  realise  this. 

Of  Blantyre  and  the  people  at  St.  Elwyn's 
he  knew  little  or  nothing.  He  had  met  the 
clergy  there  once  or  twice  upon  official  occa- 
sions, but  that  was  all.  He  was  too  busy  with 
his  own  work  to  have  much  time  to  attend  to 
that  of  other  people,  but  he  had  the  natural 
distaste  of  his  school  and  bringing-up  for 
ceremonial  and  teaching  of  which  he  had  no 
experience,  and  merely  regarded  as  foreign, 
anti-English,  and  on  the  whole  dangerous. 

He  was  not  a  bigot,  and  the  leading  feature 
in  his  religion  was  this :  He  assigned  an  abso- 


A  Union  of  Forces  185 

lute  supremacy  to  Holy  Scripture  as  the  only 
rule  of  faith  and  practice,  the  only  test  of 
truth,  the  only  judge  of  controversy.  He  did 
not  think  that  there  was  any  guide  for  man's 
soul  co-equal  or  co-ordinate  with  the  Bible. 
He  did  not  care  to  accept  such  statements  as 
"the  Church  says  so,"  "primitive  antiquity 
says  so,"  or  "the  Councils  and  the  Fathers 
also  say  so," — unless  it  could  be  shown  to  his 
satisfaction  that  what  is  said  is  in  harmony 
with  Scripture. 

Disregarding  as  superfluous  all  external  and 
"vicarious"  form  in  religion,  he  attached 
paramount  importance  to  the  work  and  office 
of  our  Lord,  and  the  highest  place  to  the  in- 
ward work  of  the  Holy  Spirit  in  the  heart  of 
man.  And  he  attached  tremendous  import- 
ance to  the  outward  and  visible  work  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  in  the  heart  of  man.  His  su- 
preme belief  was  that  the  true  grace  of  God  is 
a  thing  that  will  always  make  itself  manifest 
in  the  behaviour,  tastes,  ways,  and  choices,  of 
him  who  has  it.  He  thought,  therefore,  that 
it  was  illogical  to  tell  men  that  they  are 
"children  of  God,  and  members  of  Christ,  and 
heirs  of  the  kingdom  of  Heaven"  unless  they 
had  really  overcome  the  world,  the  flesh,  and 
the  devil.  But  he  could  not  be  stern  or 


1 86  A  Lost  Cause 

menacing  in  his  dealings  with  souls.  The 
mercy  of  God  was  more  in  his  thoughts, 
always  and  at  all  times,  than  the  wrath  and 
judgment  of  God. 

His  attitude  toward  the  pressing  questions 
that  were  agitating  the  Church  of  England,  all 
over  England,  was  in  logical  correspondence 
with  his  beliefs.  There  was  much  within  the 
Church  that  he  had  not  understood  or  realised 
as  yet,  but  he  was  no  Hamlyn,  to  break  down 
and  destroy  all  that  has  made  the  Church  of 
England  what  it  is. 

He  neither  undervalued  the  Church  nor 
thought  lightly  of  her  privileges.  In  sincere 
and  loyal  attachment  to  her,  he  would  give 
place  to  none.  His  apprehension  of  church- 
manship  was  limited,  that  was  all. 

Nor  did  he — as  far  as  he  knew — under- 
value the  Christian  ministry.  He  looked 
upon  it  as  a  high  and  honourable  office  in- 
stituted by  Christ  Himself,  and  on  priests  as 
God's  ambassadors,  God's  messengers,  God's 
stewards  and  overseers.  Nevertheless  he 
looked  upon  what  he  knew  as  "sacerdotal- 
ism" and  "priestcraft"  with  unfeigned  dis- 
like and  uneasiness. 

He  believed  in  baptism  as  the  appointed 
means  of  regeneration  and  that  it  conveyed 


A  Union  of  Forces  187 

grace  ex  opere  operate;  a  position  in  which 
he  was  a  little  in  advance  of  some  of  his 
school.  His  views  on  the  Eucharist  were 
hardly  so  sound,  though  there  was  nothing  in 
them  absolutely  antagonistic  to  the  truths 
which  he  had  not  yet  realised.  He  certainly 
did  not  regard  Holy  Communion  as  the  chief 
service  in  the  Church,  its  central  point. 

On  outward  things,  he  was  sane  enough. 
He  liked  handsome  churches,  good  ecclesias- 
tical architecture,  a  well-ordered  ceremonial, 
and  a  well-conducted  service.  If  any  one  had 
told  Mr.  Carr  that  he  was  as  nearly  as  possible 
"Catholic"  in  his  views,  that  if  they  were 
logically  pushed  forward  to  their  proper  de- 
velopment he  would  be  practically  one  with 
the  St.  Elwyn's  people,  he  would  first  have 
been  startled  somewhat  unpleasantly,  and 
then  he  would  have  laughed  incredulously. 

And  if  some  one  had  gone  to  Blantyre  and 
told  him  that  Carr  was  thus,  he  would  have 
smiled  rather  sadly  to  think  that  his  informant 
had  realised  the  truths  taught  by  the  Anglican 
Church  in  a  very  limited  way. 

This  mutual  misunderstanding  between  the 
only  two  schools  of  thought  in  the  Church  of 
England  that  have  enduring  value  is  very 
common.  The  extreme  Protestants  are  not 


1 88  A  Lost  Cause 

church-people  at  all  in  any  right  sense  of  the 
word.  The  "Broad"  party  are  confused  with 
their  own  shifting  surmises  from  day  to  day, 
and  make  too  many  "discoveries"  to  have 
real  and  lasting  influence.  But  the  "High 
Church"  people  and  the  pious  "Evangelicals" 
are  extraordinarily  close  to  one  another,  and 
neither  party  realises  the  fact,  while  both 
would  repudiate  it.  Yet  both  schools  of 
opinion  are,  after  all,  occupied  with  one  end 
and  aim  to  the  exclusion  of  all  others — the 
attaining  of  personal  holiness. 

It  was  on  a  bright  morning  that  Mr.  Carr 
came  down-stairs  and  breakfasted,  after  he 
had  read  prayers  with  his  two  servants.  There 
was  no  daily  service  in  St.  Luke's,  though  even- 
song was  said  on  Wednesdays  and  Saturdays. 
He  read  his  morning  paper  for  a  few  moments, 
then  put  it  down  and  pushed  his  plate  away. 
He  was  unable  to  eat,  this  morning. 

He  got  up  and  walked  uneasily  about  the 
room.  His  face  was  troubled  and  sad.  Then 
he  pulled  a  letter  from  his  pocket  and  read  it 
with  a  doubtful  sigh.  This  was  the  letter: 

" LUTHER  LODGE, 

"DEAR  SIR:  "HORNHAM.N. 

"Your  letter  duly  to  hand.  I  note  that  you  are 
desirous  of  having  a  private  conversation  with  me, 


A  Union  of  Forces  189 

and  shall  be  pleased  to  grant  facilities  for  same.  I 
shall  not  be  leaving  for  the  Strand  till  mid-day,  and 
can  therefore  see  you  at  eleven. 

"  Faithfully  yours, 

"SAMUEL  HAMLYN. 

"Secretary  of  the  Luther  League, 
"Chairman  of  The  New  Reformation  Association." 

The  clergyman  read  and  reread  the  letter, 
hardly  knowing  what  to  make  of  it.  He  had 
done  so  many  times.  The  infinite  condescen- 
sion of  it  annoyed  him;  the  recapitulation  of 
the  writer's  position  seemed  a  piece  of  im- 
pudent bravado,  and  reminded  the  vicar  of 
St.  Luke's  of  the  unhappy  state  that  religious 
life  was  in  at  Hornham. 

Some  days  before,  shocked  and  distressed 
beyond  measure  at  the  growing  turmoil  in 
Hornham,  startled  by  the  continued  evidences 
of  it  that  he  met  with  in  his  pastoral  life,  he 
had  written  to  Mr.  Hamlyn  asking  for  a  pri- 
vate interview.  He  had  shrunk  from  doing 
anything  of  the  sort  for  weeks.  His  whole 
nature  revolted  against  it.  But  he  had  dimly 
recognised  that  in  some  measure  he  might  be 
said  to  be  in  a  middle  position  between  the 
two  conflicting  parties,  and  thought  that  his 
mediation  might  be  of  some  avail.  Repug- 
nant as  it  was  to  him,  he  resolved  that  he 


1 90  A  Lost  Cause 

must  do  what  he  thought  to  be  his  duty,  and 
after  he  had  made  it  the  subject  of  anxious 
and  fervent  prayer  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  see  if  he  could  not  prevail  with  the  leader 
of  the  "New  Reformation"  to  cease  his  agita- 
tion, in  Hornham  at  any  rate.  He  imagined 
that  Hamlyn  could  hardly  realise  the  harm  he 
was  doing  to  the  true  religious  life  in  the  place. 
It  was  not  his  business  to  argue  with  the  re- 
former about  his  work  elsewhere.  He  knew 
nothing  of  that.  But  in  Hornham,  at  any 
rate,  he  did  see  that  the  civil  war  provoked 
nothing  but  the  evil  passions  of  hatred  and 
malice,  had  no  effect  upon  either  party,  and 
prevented  the  steady  preparation  for  heaven 
which  he  thought  was  the  supreme  business  of 
Christians. 

Hamlyn's  letter  certainly  did  n't  seem  at 
all  conciliatory.  It  disturbed  him.  He  had 
hardly  ever  spoken  to  the  man  in  the  past, 
but  he  had  known  of  him,  as  he  necessarily 
knew  of  every  tradesman  in  the  borough. 
Social  considerations  hardly  ever  entered  his 
mind,  but  he  had  not  thought  of  Hamlyn  as  a 
potentate  in  any  way  when  he  had  written  to 
him.  He  knew  him  for  a  plump,  shrewd, 
vulgar  man,  who  dropped  his  aspirates  and 
said  "paiper"  for  "paper,"  and,  indeed,  had 


A  Union  of  Forces  191 

thought  none  the  worse  of  him  for  that.  But 
the  letter  surprised  him.  It  was  almost 
offensive,  and  he  was  as  near  anger  as  a  gentle- 
minded  man  may  be. 

At  half-past  ten  o'clock,  he  sighed,  realis- 
ing that  a  most  distasteful  duty  had  to  be 
done,  and  prepared  to  leave  the  house.  Be- 
fore he  left  his  study,  he  knelt  down  and 
prayed  for  a  blessing  in  his  mission.  He 
always  prayed  before  any  event  of  any  im- 
portance in  life.  An  enormous  number  of 
people  still  do,  and  it  is  a  very  great  pity  that 
some  people  do  not  believe  or  realise  the  fact. 
Prayer  is  not  the  anachronism  many  pub- 
licists would  have  us  believe.  If  among  all 
classes,  Christians  by  open  profession,  and 
people  who  make  no  profession  at  all,  save 
only  contempt  for  Christianity,  a  census  of 
prayers  prayed  during  one  day  could  be  taken, 
the  result  would  be  very  remarkable  indeed. 
It  would  certainly  startle  the  rationalists. 
Statistics  show  that  every  second  a  child  is 
born  and  a  person  dies.  It  is  during  the  ap- 
proach of  such  occasions  that  even  people 
who  call  themselves  "atheists"  generally 
pray.  Ask  hospital  nurses,  doctors,  or  parish 
priests!  There  is  no  greater  humbug  than 
the  pretence  that  prayer  as  a  general  necessity 


i92  A  Lost  Cause 

and  practice  is  dead.  There  is  more  irreligion 
visible  to-day  than  at  any  other  time  in  Eng- 
lish history,  perhaps.  But  that  does  not 
mean  that  people  do  not  pray.  The  majority 
live  a  jolly,  godless  life  till  they  are  frightened. 
Then  they  pray.  The  minority  pray  always. 
Mr.  Carr  left  his  house  with  a  more  vigorous 
step  after  his  petition.  As  so  many  folk 
know,  the  help  that  comes  from  prayer  is 
only  self-hypnotism — of  course.  But  it  is 
certainly  odd  what  power  some  of  the  least 
gifted  and  most  ordinary  people  have  of  this 
self -hypnotism.  One  had  always  thought  it 
rather  a  cryptic  science,  the  literature  of 
India,  for  example,  regarding  it  as  a  supreme 
achievement.  But  it  must  be  very  simple 
after  all!  And  if  the  help  that  comes  to  the 
human  heart  after  prayer  is  a  result  of  this 
magnetic  power,  all  we  can  say  is  that  in  the 
depths  of  a  Whitechapel  slum,  the  outcast, 
forgotten,  and  oppressed  have  each  and  all 
the  most  remarkable,  delicate,  and  cultured 
temperaments,  not  in  the  least  seared  or 
spoilt  by  privation  and  want.  The  only  point 
that  one  quite  fails  to  understand  is,  why  are 
the  leading  reviews  and  scientific  publications 
still  discussing  this  art,  or  talent,  as  something 
rare,  abnormal,  and  as  yet  little  understood? 


A  Union  of  Forces  193 

Mr.  Carr  drew  near  to  "Luther  Lodge." 
"Balmoral"  had  been  deserted  for  some  time 
by  the  Hamlyn  family,  who  very  properly 
felt  that  it  was  beneath  the  dignity  of  its  cele- 
brated head,  and  would  also  be  harmful  to  the 
glorious  Protestant  cause,  if  they  remained 
among  the  undistinguished  inhabitants  of 
Beatrice  Villas. 

About  the  time  that  this  decision  had  been 
arrived  at,  a  substantial  square  house,  un- 
ornamental  but  sound — like  Protestantism 
itself — was  vacated  by  its  former  inhabitant, 
the  Mayor  of  Hornham,  a  leather-dresser  in  a 
large  way,  who  had  sold  his  business  to  a 
company  and  was  retiring  to  the  country. 
Mr.  Hamlyn  looked  over  the  place — then 
known  as  Hide-side  House — and  saw  that  it 
would  exactly  suit  him  and  his  altered  for- 
tunes. He  changed  the  name  to  "Luther 
Lodge,"  made  some  extensive  purchases  of 
furniture,  and  established  himself  there  with 
his  son  and  daughter. 

Carr  drew  near  to  the  iron  gates  before  the 
circular  sweep  of  gravel  known  to  the  past 
and  present  inhabitants  of  the  house  as  the 
"drive."  The  gates  were  hung  from  two 
stone  pilasters,  each  surmounted  by  a  small 
but  extremely  rampant  lion,  fiercely  Protestant 


194  A  Lost  Cause 

of  aspect  and  painted  a  dull  purple.  The 
whole  aspect  of  the  place  was  chilling,  as  the 
clergyman  walked  up  to  the  door.  The  for- 
mal lace  curtains  in  the  windows,  the  brilliant 
black-leaded  boot-scraper  which  reflected  the 
sunlight  in  a  dozen  facets  of  vicious  leaden 
fire,  the  great  apple  of  shining  brass  which 
was  the  bell-pull — all  these  affected  him  in 
an  unpleasant  manner.  He  was  supremely 
unconscious  of  any  artistic  likings  or  know- 
ledge, but  the  seeds  of  them  were  latent  in 
him  nevertheless,  and  the  place  hurt  his 
senses  in  a  strange  way. 

A  trim  maid  came  to  the  door,  the  extreme 
antithesis  of  the  filibustering  "general"  of  a 
year  ago,  and  showed  him  into  the  hall. 

"I'll  see  if  master's  disengaged,"  she  said; 
"are  you  the  gentleman  as  has  an  appoint- 
ment with  master  for  eleven?" 

Mr.  Carr  confessed  to  being  that  gentleman 
and  the  girl  left  him  standing  there.  From 
some  room  in  the  upper  part  of  the  house,  so 
it  seemed,  the  tinkling  notes  of  a  piano  came 
down  to  him.  Some  one — it  was  Miss  Ham- 
lyn  herself — was  singing  fervently  of  "voilets, 
voilets,  I  will  wear  for  thee." 

After  a  considerable  interval,  the  maid 
came  back.  "Master  will  see  you  now,  sir," 


A  Union  of  Forces  195 

she  said,  and  ushered  the  visitor  into  Mr. 
Hamlyn's  study. 

It  was  a  fair-sized  room  with  a  long  French 
window  opening  upon  a  lawn  in  the  centre  of 
a  small,  walled  garden.  Many  book-shelves 
filled  with  grave  and  portly  tomes  lined  the 
walls,  a  large  writing-table  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  carpet.  Some  months  before,  a  strug- 
gling firm  of  ''religious  publishers"  had  failed, 
and  their  stock  of  theology  was  thrown  upon 
a  flooded  market  as  "Remainders."  Mr. 
Hamlyn,  as  being  in  the  trade  himself,  was 
enabled  to  acquire  a  library  suited  to  his 
position  at  remarkably  cheap  rates. 

Mr.  Hamlyn  rose  from  his  chair. 

"Glad  to  see  you,"  he  said  hastily,  and 
with  great  condescension  and  good  humour. 
"Fortunate  I  happened  to  have  a  morning  free. 
Now,  what  'can  I  do  for  you?  No  spiritual 
trouble,  I  hope?  Ritualists  been  prowling 
round  St.  Luke's?  If  so,  say  the  word,  give 
me  the  facts,  and  1 11  see  you  are  protected! " 

"It  is  on  a  question  connected  with  the 
state  of  affairs  in  the  district  that  I  called  to 
see  you,  Mr.  Hamlyn." 

"Quite  so,  Mr.  Carr,  just  what  I  expected. 
Well,  I  've  always  heard  good  accounts  of 
you  as  a  loyal  Protestant  minister — though  I 


196  A  Lost  Cause 

can't  approve  of  your  using  that  pestilential 
book,  Hymns  Ancient  and  Modern,  in  your 
church — and  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you. 
Providence  has  placed  a  scourge  in  my  hand 
to  drive  the  idolaters  from  the  Temple,  so 
tell  me  your  trouble." 

Carr  had  listened  to  this,  which  was  deliv- 
ered in  a  loud,  confident  voice,  with  growing 
amazement.  He  hardly  knew  how  to  take 
the  man. 

"I  deplore  very  much,"  he  said,  making 
a  great  effort,  "the  state  into  which  Horn- 
ham  has  been  thrown.  I  cannot,  of  course, 
approve  of  much  that  I  understand  takes 
place  at  St.  Elwyn's.  Yet  I  am  beginning  to 
fear  that  the  remedy  is  worse  than  the  dis- 
ease. I  am  sure,  Mr.  Hamlyn,  that  your 
great  desire  must  be  to  see  the  people  led  to 
love  the  Lord  Jesus  and  to  live  godly,  sober 
lives.  Well,  I  find  that  the  crusade  of  the 
Luther  League  is  unsettling  the  minds  of 
weaker  brethren.  They  are  becoming  ex- 
cited, forgetful  of  duty,  carried  away  by  the 
flood  of  a  popular  movement.  All  this  is 
hurtful  to  souls.  Men  should  have  peace  to 
make  themselves  right  with  God.  Strife  and 
anger  hurt  the  soul  and  wound  it.  Now  I 
have  no  concern  with  any  other  place  but 


A  Union  of  Forces  197 

this,  in  which  my  ministry  is  set.  But  in 
Hornham,  at  least,  I  have  come  to  ask  you 
to  moderate  your  attacks  upon  the  High 
Church  party,  to  extend  to  them  the  same 
tolerance  they  extend  to  us." 

Hamlyn  stared  at  the  speaker. 

"To  moderate  MY  methods?"  he  shouted  in 
a  coarse  voice.  "Do  you  know  what  you're 
asking?  Do  you  realise  who  I  am?" 

"Perfectly,  Mr.  Hamlyn,"  the  clergyman 
answered  with  considerable  dignity.  "I  am 
speaking,  I  hope,  to  a  brother  Christian,  and 
as  such,  in  the  name  of  our  dear  Lord,  I  ask 
you  to  cease  this  strife  and  discord  among  us. 
God  will  show  his  desires  in  his  own  way; 
prayer  is  a  more  powerful  weapon  than  pub- 
lic invective.  And  it  is  idle  to  deny  that  the 
vicar  of  St.  Elwyn's  and  his  curates  are  doing 
good.  I  believe  their  teaching  on  funda- 
mental truths  is  wrong,  I  deprecate  the  cere- 
monial with  which  they  veil  and  cover  the 
simple  beauties  of  the  Christian  faith.  But 
Mr.  Blantyre  is  a  good  and  noble-hearted 
man.  He  gives  his  life  and  his  large  income 
— it  is  a  matter  of  common  knowledge — to 
the  service  of  the  poor  and  needy.  He  is 
utterly  unselfish,  he  loves  Jesus.  Let  him 
work  in  his  own  way  in  peace." 


198  A  Lost  Cause 

Mr.  Hamlyn's  face  .  grew  very  red.  The 
man  was  mentally  bloated  by  prosperity  and 
success.  Daily  he  was  hailed  by  fools  as  the 
saviour  of  his  country,  his  name  was  on  many 
lips,  and  his  sense  of  proportion  was  utterly 
gone. 

"Really!"  he  said,  "of  all  the  mad  re- 
quests as  was  ever  made  me  this  is  the  mad- 
dest! Are  you  in  your  senses,  Mr.  Carr — you 
a  Protestant  minister  of  the  Word?  You 
can't  be.  You  come  to  me,  me,  who  Provi- 
dence has  set  at  the  head  of  Henglish  Protest- 
antism, and  ask  me  to  join  a  base  conspiracy 
to  silence  the  clarion  of  Truth!  to  leave  my 
'igh  ground  of  Principle  and  grovel  before  a 
petticoated  'priest'!  Why,  you're  asking 
me  to  let  the  Pope  and  the  devil  into  Horn- 
ham.  Have  you  ever  cast  your  eye  upon  the 
works  of  the  immortal  John  Bunyan  ?  What 
about  Mr.  Facing-both-ways  ?  " 

Mr.  Carr  kept  his  temper.  He  was  there 
upon  an  important  issue.  What  did  it  mat- 
ter if  the  man  was  rude?  "But  don't  you 
think,  as  a  Christian,"  he  said  mildly,  "that 
it  is  hard  enough  to  fight  the  devil,  the  world, 
and  the  flesh  without  private  differences  in 
the  Christian  camp?" 

"Who's  speaking  of  Christians?"  Hamlyn 


A  Union  of  Forces  199 

cried;  "not  I.  Blantyre  is  no  Christian;  he 
is  doing  the  devil's  work,  which  is  the  work 
of  Rome.  He  gives  away  his  money  because 
the  devil  showed  him  that  it  was  a  good  move, 
to  win  souls  to  Rome.  As  for  his  goodness, 
how  do  we  know  what  goes  on  in  the  con- 
fessional ?  I '  ve  heard ' ' 

Carr  stood  up.  "Let  me  tell  you  at  once, 
sir,"  he  said  in  a  hard  voice  and  with  flashing 
eyes,  "that  any  scandal  and  slander  you  make 
before  me  about  a  man  I  know  to  be  pure 
and  good  I  will  at  once  repeat  to  him,  and 
you  will  have  to  take  the  consequences." 

"Ah!"  said  the  agitator  sharply  and  sud- 
denly and  with  his  impudent  smile  flashing 
over  his  face,  mingled  with  a  sneer,  "I  see 
now!  I  ought  to  have  seen  it  before.  You 
are  a  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing!  While  we  all 
thought  you  a  faithful  Protestant,  you  have 
secretly  joined  causes  with  the  enemy.  The 
cloven  'oof  'as  peeped  out!  You  come  as  a 
sneaking  ambassador  of  Rome  in  the  garb  of 
a  Protestant.  The  Jesuits  have  been  having 
a  go  at  you,  Mr.  Carr,  and  they've  got  you! 
I  shouldn't  wonder  if  you've  got  your  'air- 
shirt  on  now!  Go  back  to  them  as  sent  you 
and  say  that  I've  scourged  'em  with  whips 
in  the  past  and  I'll  give  'em  scorpions  now. 


200  A  Lost  Cause 

This  will  make  a  fine  story  at  our  next  meet- 
ing in  the  public  'all!" 

Carr  turned  on  his  heel  without  a  word  and 
left  the  room.  He  crossed  the  hall  in  a  couple 
of  strides,  opened  the  door,  and  walked 
quickly  over  the  gravel  sweep.  As  his  hand 
was  on  the  latch  of  the  gate,  the  reformer's 
voice  hailed  him.  Mr.  Hamlyn  was  looking 
round  the  corner  of  the  door;  a  genial  grin — 
a  clown's  grin — lay  upon  his  face.  "Mr. 
Carr! "  he  bawled  with  unabashed  and  merry 
impudence,  "been  to  Mass  yet?" 

Then,  with  a  final  chuckle,  he  closed  the 
door. 

The  peacemaker  walked  sadly  away.  He 
saw  at  once  the  sort  of  man  he  had  been  deal- 
ing with,  and  recognised  how  futile  any  pro- 
test would  be  in  the  case.  He  saw  clearly 
how  unassailable  Hamlyn 's  position  was, 
while  the  country  was  full  of  people  who 
would  pay  him  to  keep  them  in  a  state  of 
pleasurable  excitement.  It  was  better  than 
the  theatre  to  which  Hamlyn 's  subscribers 
loudly  protested  that  their  consciences  would 
not  allow  them  to  go!  It  was  a  sort  of  bull- 
baiting  revived ;  the  lust  of  the  public  at  see- 
ing some  one  hunted  was  satisfied. 

How  infinitely  better  the  sober  methods  of 


A  Union  of  Forces  201 

the  old-established  Protestant  societies  were! 
Legitimate  propaganda,  a  dignified  and  schol- 
arly controversy,  these  were  right  and  sane. 
But  this  clown's  business,  this  noise  and 
venom,  was  utterly  disgusting.  He  had  caught 
a  glimpse  into  the  machinery  of  the  whole 
movement  that  sickened  him. 

He  went  home  to  his  lonely  house  and  made 
a  frugal  lunch.  Something  ought  to  be  done, 
but  what?  He  was  not  a  man  to  fail  in  any 
efforts  he  made  in  a  good  cause.  He  did  not 
propose  to  cease  his  attempts  to  restore 
Hornham  to  decent  calm,  even  now.  But  he 
could  not  see,  at  the  moment,  what  was  the 
next  move  he  should  make. 

During  the  afternoon  he  set  out  on  a  round 
of  parochial  visiting.  He  sat  by  the  bed- 
sides of  the  sick,  the  querulous,  the  ungrate- 
ful, and  told  his  message  of  comfort.  He 
heard  much  of  Hamlyn's  campaign.  The  new 
leaflet  with  its  violent  language  was  thrust  into 
his  hand.  Every  one  wondered  what  would 
happen  next.  Would  Mr.  Blantyre  face  the 
Luther  Lecturers  in  the  public  hall  ?  One  old 
bedridden  dame  Carr  found  all  agog  with  ex- 
citement and  spite.  "It'd  come  to  a  fight," 
she  expected,  and  "wot  an  awful  thing  it  was 
to  have  them  wicked  monsters  the  Papists 


202  A  Lost  Cause 

so  close.  She  could  'ardly  sleep  o'  nights 
thinking  of  it  all."  Carr  found  that  the 
poor  old  creature  had  not  the  remotest  idea 
of  what  "Papist"  meant,  of  what  anything 
meant,  indeed;  but  she  would  hardly  listen 
to  his  prayers  and  Bible-reading  neverthe- 
less, so  eager  was  she  to  discuss  the  "goings 
on." 

About  four,  as  he  left  the  last  house  he 
purposed  to  visit  just  then,  a  strange  thought 
came  to  him  suddenly.  He  was  at  the  ex- 
treme end  of  his  parish,  not  far  from  St. 
Elwyn's.  Would  it  not  be  a  good  thing  to 
go  and  visit  Blantyre,  to  express  his  sympathy 
and  to  discuss  whether  some  way  out  of  the 
present  trouble  could  not  be  found  ? 

The  idea  strengthened  and  grew.  He  knew 
Blantyre  was  a  decent  fellow — every  one  said 
so.  But,  nevertheless,  he  had  the  sense  of 
venturing  into  the  lion's  den!  He  should  feel 
strange  among  these  priests  with  their  foreign 
ways,  their  cassocks  and  berrettas;  there 
would  be  discomfort  in  the  visit. 

It  is  curious  how,  in  the  minds  of  the  least 
prejudiced,  the  dislike  to  the  definite  and 
outward  symbols  that  a  priest  wears  still 
lingers.  In  another  generation,  it  will  have 
been  swept  away,  but  it  still  survives  as  a 


A  Union  of  Forces  203 

relic  of  the  dark,  secularising  influences  of  the 
eighteenth  century.  And,  again,  the  man  in 
the  street  does  not  like  to  be  reminded  that 
there  is  a  God  and  a  class  of  men  vowed  to 
His  service,  and  the  complete  distinction  of  a 
priest's  costume  is  too  explicit  a  reminder. 

Carr  thought  the  matter  out  for  a  minute 
or  two  and  then  made  up  his  mind.  He 
would  go  and  talk  over  the  situation  with 
Blantyre.  With  a  vivid  sense  of  how  his 
host  of  the  morning  would  call  his  action 
"bowing  down  in  the  house  of  Rimmon,"  a 
sense  that  only  quickened  his  steps  and  sent 
a  contemptuous  curl  to  his  lip,  he  turned  and 
walked  towards  the  clergy-house. 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  a  tall  and  rather 
hulking  man  in  livery  showed  him  into  a 
large  drawing-room.  This  was  the  navvy, 
Mr.  King's  former  assailant,  who  had  been 
promoted,  at  his  own  request,  to  a  distinctive 
costume,  which  he  wore  with  pride  and  dili- 
gence. His  only  grief  was  that  he  was  not 
allowed  to  "wipe  the  floor  with  that  there 
Hamlyn,"  but  he  lived  in  hope  that  some 
fresh  outrage  would  provide  him  with  the 
necessary  permission. 

Carr  looked  round  the  room.  There  was 
nothing  ecclesiastical  about  it,  no  flavour  of  the 


204  A  Lost  Cause 

monk  at  home.  It  had  been  newly  papered; 
the  walls  were  covered  with  pictures  so 
fresh  and  new  in  treatment  that  they  might 
have  come  from  the  Academy  of  that  year. 
The  vicar  of  St.  Luke's  suddenly  awoke  to  the 
fact  that  he  was  in  a  very  charming  room 
indeed.  There  was  a  Stein  way  grand  piano 
there,  a  beautiful  instrument ;  he  saw  that  the 
Twelfth  Nocturne  of  Chopin  stood  open  upon 
it.  Everywhere  he  saw  a  multitude  of  photo- 
graphs in  frames  of  silver,  copper,  ivory,  pea- 
cock leather — every  imaginable  sort  of  frame. 
A  great  many  of  these  photographs  were 
signed  in  the  corner,  and  looking  at  some  of 
them  he  was  surprised  to  see  that  they  were 
of  very  well-known  people.  Here  was  a  well- 
known  general,  there  a  judge,  again  the  con- 
scious features  of  a  society  actor  beamed  out 
at  him.  His  eye,  unobservant  at  first,  began 
to  take  in  the  details  of  the  room  more  rap- 
idly. There  were  a  hundred  luxurious  little 
trifles  scattered  about,  numerous  contrivances 
for  comfort.  He  was  wondering  to  whom  this 
room  could  belong,  when  the  door  opened  and 
his  doubts  were  resolved. 

A  girl  came  in,  a  girl  with  a  beautifully 
modelled  face,  healthy  and  yet  without  crim- 
son in  it.  A  pair  of  frank,  dark  eyes  looked 


A  Union  of  Forces  205 

at  him  from  beneath  an  overshadowing  mass 
of  dead  black  hair. 

"How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Carr,"  she  said, — he 
had  given  the  man  his  card, — "I  am  Mr.  Blan- 
tyre's  sister;  I've  only  just  pitched  my  tent 
in  Hornham.  Bernard  will  be  in  for  tea  in 
half  an  hour." 

Rather  nervously,  Carr  explained  that  he 
had  called  on  a  matter  of  parochial  business. 
He  remained  standing,  a  little  at  a  loss.  This 
girl  was  not  like  the  young  ladies  of  Hornham. 

"Well,  you  must  have  some  tea,"  Lucy 
said  with  decision  as  she  rang  the  bell.  Carr 
sat  down.  He  anticipated  a  somewhat  trying 
half  hour  until  the  vicar  should  arrive.  He 
was  a  gentleman,  well  bred  in  every  way,  but 
his  life,  from  the  time  of  his  school  days,  had 
been  lonely  and  without  much  feminine 
companionship . 

In  five  minutes  he  found,  to  his  own  great 
surprise,  that  he  was  talking  vividly  and  well, 
that  he  was  quite  pleased  to  be  where  he  was. 
And  the  girl  seemed  to  be  interested  and 
pleased  with  him.  It  was  a  very  new  sensa- 
tion, this  feeling  of  mutual  liking,  to  the  lonely 
man.  The  conversation  turned  naturally  to 
the  unrest  around  them.  Carr  said  nothing 
as  yet  of  his  morning's  experience. 


206  A  Lost  Cause 

"Well,  I  must  confess,  frankly,  Mr.  Carr," 
Lucy  said,  "that  until  lately  I  never  took  any 
interest  at  all  in  these  things.  They  seemed 
humbug  to  me.  Now,  of  course,  I  know  bet- 
ter. It's  a  shame!  a  black  shame,  that  Ber- 
nard and  the  others  should  be  treated  so  by 
this  disgusting  man.  If  he  only  knew  what 
their  life  was!  how  self-denying,  how  full  of 
unceasing  labour  and  worry,  how  devoted. 
Take  Mr.  Stephens,  for  instance:  he's  only  a 
boy,  yet  he's  killing  himself  with  work  and 
enthusiasm.  He  was  up  all  last  night  with  a 
man  that  has  delirium  tremens,  yet  he  said 
Mass  at  half -past  seven,  came  to  breakfast  as 
merry  as  a  sand-boy,  and  was  teaching  in  the 
national  schools  at  nine.  And  he'll  be  on 
his  feet  to-day  until  nearly  midnight  without 
a  word  of  complaint.  He  '11  spend  nearly  the 
whole  evening  in  the  boys'  club,  boxing  and 
playing  billiards  with  them — oh,  you  can't 
think  how  the  three  of  them  work! " 

She  went  on  with  a  series  of  anecdotes  and 
explanations,  told  with  great  vividness  and 
power,  in  her  new  enthusiasm  for  the  men 
among  whom  she  had  come.  And  throughout 
all  her  talk,  the  clergyman  heard  frequent 
references  to  the  services  that  went  on  almost 
unceasingly  in  the  great  church  hard  by.  He 


A  Union  of  Forces  207 

heard  names,  strange  and  yet  familiar,  start- 
ling to  his  ear,  and  yet  which  seemed  quite 
natural  and  fitting  in  the  place  where  he  was. 
One  thing  he  began  to  see  clearly,  and  with 
interest :  whatever  these  men  were  in  opinion, 
a  life  of  real  and  active  holiness  went  on 
among  them.  And  he  noticed  also,  with  won- 
der, how  everything  seemed  to  draw  its  in- 
spiration from  the  church,  how  constantly  the 
clergy  were  there,  hearing  confessions,  saying 
services,  praying,  and  preaching.  The  whole 
thing  was  new  to  him. 

They  were  the  best  of  friends,  talking 
brightly  together,  when  the  door  burst  open 
and  the  impetuous  priest  rushed  in.  "Well, 
I'm  glad  to  see  you!"  he  said  with  a  broad 
grin  of  welcome.  "Had  tea? — that's  right. 
I  see  you've  made  friends  with  my  clergy- 
woman!  I've  been  in  church  hearing  con- 
fessions, or  I'd  have  been  in  sooner." 

His  manner  was  extremely  genial.  He 
seemed  genuinely  glad  to  see  his  brother  vicar 
and  not  in  the  least  surprised  or  puzzled. 

Carr  looked  attentively  at  him.  So  this 
merry  Irishman,  with  the  lined,  powerful  face, 
the  grey  hair,  and  eyes  which  sometimes  blazed 
out  like  lamps — this  was  the  great  Ritualist, 
the  Jesuit,  the  thief  of  English  liberty! 


2o8  A  Lost  Cause 

He  had  a  wonderful  magnetic  power,  that 
was  evident  at  once.  His  sympathy  for 
everything  and  everybody  poured  from  him; 
he  was  "big,"  big  in  every  way. 

He  chatted  merrily  away  on  a  variety  of 
topics  while  taking  his  tea.  Asking  his  sister 
for  another  cup,  he  suddenly  turned  to  Can*. 
"That  reminds  me,"  he  said,  "of  a  good  story 
I  heard  yesterday.  Father  Cartwright  was 
here  to  lunch,  he  is  one  of  the  St.  Clement 
Fathers  at  the  Oxford  monastery.  Not  long 
ago  a  young  nobleman — rather  a  bon  vivant, 
by  the  way — went  down  to  spend  a  few  days 
with  the  Fathers.  He  made  his  arrival,  very 
unfortunately  for  him,  poor  fellow!  on  a 
Friday,  when  the  fare's  very  frugal  indeed. 
He  had  very  little  to  eat,  poor  chap,  and  went 
to  bed  as  hungry  as  a  hunter,  quite  unable 
to  sleep  he  was.  Now,  it's  the  custom  for 
one  of  the  Fathers  to  go  round  in  the  night 
with  a  benediction,  'The  Lord  be  with  you.' 
They  always  say  it  in  Latin,  Dominus  tecum. 
The  young  man  heard  some  one  rapping  at  the 
door.  'Who's  there?'  says  he.  'Dominus 
tecum,'  was  the  answer.  'Thanks,  very 
much,'  said  the  nobleman,  'please  put  it 
down  outside'!" 

While  they  were  laughing  at  the  story,  Lucy 


A  Union  of  Forces  209 

rose  and,  shaking  hands  with  Carr,  went 
away. 

The  two  clergymen  were  left  alone.  * '  You  '11 
not  mind  talking  in  here?"  Father  Blantyre 
said.  "I've  got  a  poor  chap  in  me  study  I 
don't  want  to  disturb.  I  found  um  after 
lunch  making  a  row  in  the  street  with  a 
crowd  round  him,  a  poor  half -clothed  scare- 
crow, beastly  drunk — never  saw  a  man  in 
such  a  state.  I  asked  one  of  the  crowd  who 
he  was  and  he  said  he  was  a  stranger,  a  ship's 
fireman,  who'd  been  about  the  place  for  a 
day  or  two,  spending  all  his  money  in  drinks, 
and  he  had  n't  a  friend  in  the  world.  A 
policeman  came  along  and  wanted  to  lock  um 
up,  but  I  managed  to  get  him  in  here  and 
he's  sleeping  it  off.  I  shall  give  um  egg  in 
milk  when  he  comes  round :  his  poor  stomach 's 
half  poisoned  with  bad  liquor  and  no  food.  I 
always  find  egg  and  milk  the  best  thing  in 
these  cases.  I  wish  he  was  n't  so  dirty!  We 
shall  have  to  give  'm  a  hot  tub  before  he  can 
go  to  bed." 

"What  will  you  do  with  him?" 

"Oh,  keep  him  here  for  a  day  or  two  to 
pull  round,  give  um  some  clothes,  and  pack  'm 
off  to  sea  again  where  he  can't  get  any  drink." 

"Don't  such  men  ever  rob  you?" 


210  A  Lost  Cause 

"Hardly  ever.  It's  not  your  real  outcast 
who  steals  much.  They  're  generally  so  aston- 
ished to  find  a  parson  is  n't  as  black  as  he 's 
painted  that  they  don't  think  of  anything 
else.  They  go  away  feeling  they've  got  a 
pal,  made  a  friend!  That's  the  awful  want 
in  their  lives.  A  lot  of  them  come  back,  and 
write  to  me  while  they're  away,  too,  queer 
letters  full  of  gratitude  and  bad  language! 
But  ye  came  to  see  me,  my  friend.  I'm  so 
glad  you've  found  your  way  here.  Now, 
what  can  I  do  for  you,  or  are  ye  going  to  do 
anything  for  me  ? ' ' 

His  manner  had  changed.  His  tone  was  in- 
describably sympathetic  and  gentle.  If  ever 
the  wisdom  of  charity  and  the  light  of  holi- 
ness shone  out  on  a  man's  face,  Carr  thought 
that  he  saw  it  now. 

He  was  entirely  dominated  by  the  man. 
In  a  burst  of  nervous  words,  he  poured  out  his 
thoughts.  He  told  of  his  futile  visit  to  Ham- 
lyn,  his  keen  distress  at  the  result,  the  misery 
the  agitation  gave  him,  and  the  harm  he 
believed  it  to  be  doing. 

Blantyre  listened  with  few  words.  Now 
and  then  he  made  a  warm  and  penetrating 
remark. 

"It  will  pass,"  he  said  at  length;    "God 


A  Union  of  Forces  211 

will  give  us  peace  again.  He  is  trying  the 
faith  of  the  poor  and  ignorant  among  us. 
Our  prayers  will  avail.  But  we  will  concert 
together  that  we  may  take  such  measures  to 
stop  the  local  evil  as  we  properly  can.  I  have 
been  loath  to  move  in  the  matter,  but  now 
that  you  have  come  to  me  we  will  join  forces 
and  take  action.  There  are  ways  and  means. 
I  hate  pulling  wires  and  using  influence,  but 
one  must  sometimes.  I  had  hoped  it  would  n't 
be  necessary.  But  something  must  be  done. 
Lord  Huddersfield  will  take  action  for  us. 
The  street  meetings  can  be  stopped  at  once. 
Then  we  can  inaugurate  a  real  press  cam- 
paign and  let  the  leader-writers  loose.  Hith- 
erto it's  been  our  policy  to  say  nothing  much, 
except  in  the  religious  papers,  of  course.  But 
the  time  has  come  when  we  must  fight,  too. 
I  was  talking  to  Sir  Michael  Manicho  about 
it  the  other  day.  A  word  or  two  from  him 
and  the  country  will  be  ringing  with  warn- 
ings. We  can  rob  this  Luther  League  of  its 
powers  in  a  week.  It  will  go  on,  of  course, 
but  with  its  fangs  drawn.  The  people  who 
support  it  will,  many  of  them,  cease  their 
subscriptions.  And  there  is  the  law  also. 
The  magistrates  of  London  are  quite  ready 
to  take  a  strong  stand.  That  is  settled.  And 


212  A  Lost  Cause 

a  word  from  the  Archbishop,  perhaps,  would 
be  a  help.  Public  opinion  is  very  easily 
turned." 

He  spoke  calmly,  but  with  conviction  and 
a  quiet  sense  of  power.  Carr  began  to  see 
dimly  what  great  forces  were  behind  this 
man  and  others  of  his  kind.  The  tremend- 
ous organising  machinery  of  the  Catholic 
Church  was  laid  bare  for  a  moment. 

A  most  confidential  talk  followed.  Blan- 
tyre  gave  the  other  details  and  names.  He 
made  it  plain  to  Carr's  astonished  ears  that 
those  in  high  places  were  waiting  to  act, 
waiting  to  see  if  the  Church  needed  them. 
The  depth  and  force  of  it  all  astonished  him. 

A  bell  began  to  ring.  ' '  There 's  evensong, ' ' 
said  Blantyre,  "I  must  be  off.  It's  my  turn 
to  say  it  to-night." 

"I  will  come,  too,"  Carr  answered. 

"Do,  do!  and  take  some  food  with  us  all 
afterwards,  and  we  11  have  a  longer  talk.  You 
can't  think  how  happy  I  am  that  we  have 
come  together.  What?  You've  never  seen 
our  church?  Why,  then,  you've  a  treat  in 
front  of  ye!  Every  one  says  it's  beautiful. 
We  all  love  it,  we're  all  proud  of  it!" 

He  took  him  by  the  arm  and  led  him  away. 

Not  a  word  of  the  differences  that  separated 


A  Union  of  Forces  213 

them,  no  suspicion,  or  distrust,  nothing  but 
welcome  and  brotherhood! 

The  tall,  bearded  man  and  the  quick, 
shaven  Celt  in  his  cassock  went  into  the 
church  together  to  pray — 

"  Give  peace  in  our  time,  O  Lord." 


CHAPTER  X 

LOW    WATER   AND   GREAT   EXPECTATIONS 

IN  a  couple  of  months  after  the  meeting 
between  Carr  and  Blantyre,  public  opin- 
ion had  spoken  in  no  uncertain  way  about 
the  "Luther  League."  Public  opinion  in 
these  days  is  very  easily  led  in  this  or  that 
direction — but  only  for  a  time.  There  is  a 
vast  stratum  of  common-sense,  of  love  of  jus- 
tice, of  wholesome  sanity,  in  England,  and  it 
can  always  be  reached  by  a  little  boring.  In 
the  end,  especially  upon  any  question  which 
is  in  its  essence  sociological,  a  proper  balance 
is  found  and  the  truth  of  a  matter  firmly 
established. 

And  Hamlyn's  agitation  was  treated  as  a 
social  question  rather  than  a  religious  one,  at 
any  rate  by  a  secular  press.  Whether  the 
doings  of  the  High  Church  party  were  legal 
or  illegal  according  to  the  prayer-book  (such 
was  the  line  the  papers  took)  was  a  question 
to  be  decided  by  experts  in  history  and  the 
authorities  of  the  Church;  a  question,  in  fact, 

214 


Low  Water  and  Great  Expectations    215 

that  ought  to  be  decided  in  a  legitimate  way. 
What  was,  however,  quite  certain,  was  that 
the  proceedings  of  Hamlyn  and  his  party 
were  improper,  vulgar,  and  indecent.  It  was 
simply  misleading  nonsense  to  cover  the 
Ritualistic  party,  a  body  of  high-minded  and 
earnest  men,  with  the  noisy  and  venomous 
vituperation  of  the  streets.  Freedom  of 
thought  was  the  heritage  of  every  English- 
man, and  Hamlyn  had  simply  elected  him- 
self a  grand  inquisitor  of  matters  that  did 
not  concern  him  and  which  he  was  unable 
to  understand.  No  dishonesty  on  the  man's 
part  was  alleged.  But  his  history  was  un- 
earthed by  one  or  two  enterprising  journalists, 
following  the  popular  lead.  It  was  shown 
that  while  nothing  had  ever  been  said  against 
his  personal  character — and  nothing  was  said 
now — he  had  risen  from  the  position  of  a 
struggling  local  newspaper  man  to  compara- 
tive affluence  and  the  control  of  a  large  and 
costly  organisation.  The  cash  accounts  of 
the  League  were  scrutinised,  and  unkind  re- 
marks were  made  upon  the  constant  adver- 
tisements of  the  League,  with  their  cry  for 
increased  income  and  fresh  subscribers.  It 
was  pointed  out  that  people  who  supported 
a  crusade  made  without  authority  by  a 


2i6  A  Lost  Cause 

self -constituted  Peter  the  Hermit,  over  whom 
no  proper  control  could  be  exercised  and  whose 
methods  of  prosecuting  it  were  a  mixture  of 
buffoonery,  uncharitable  malice,  and  untruth, 
were  incurring  a  serious  responsibility. 

In  short,  public  opinion  was  told  in  plain 
language  exactly  how  it  ought  to  regard  the 
campaign.  Great  newspapers  spoke  out  dur- 
ing one  fortnight  with  singular  unanimity. 
Street  meetings  were  promptly  broken  up  by 
the  police,  and  after  some  of  the  Luther  Lec- 
turers had  been  to  prison,  finding  that  public 
interest  in  their  "martyrdom"  was  languish- 
ing, they  subsided  into  quiet,  devotional 
meetings  on  the  sands  at  popular  watering- 
places.  Whenever  Mr.  Hamlyn  hired  a  hall 
and  lectured  on  the  iniquities  of  the  local 
clergy,  he  was  confronted  by  the  spectacle  of 
a  sharp-faced  man  who  took  down  every 
word  of  his  utterances  with  scrupulous  fidel- 
ity. It  was  always  the  same  machine-like 
man,  in  Liverpool  or  in  Plymouth,  in  Bath  or 
Dundee — there  he  was.  The  agitator's  elo- 
quence was  considerably  checked.  He  was 
in  no  condition  to  sustain  an  action  for  slan- 
der or  libel  in  which,  he  well  knew,  some  poor 
clergyman  would  somehow  be  able  to  brief 
all  the  great  hawk-faced  leaders  of  the  bar, 


Low  Water  and  Great  Expectations    2 1 7 

gentlemen  with  whom  Mr.  Hamlyn  wished  to 
have  as  little  as  possible  to  do. 

At  such  open-air  meetings  as  were  per- 
mitted, some  unobtrusive  stranger  was  gen- 
erally to  be  found  distributing  leaflets  among 
the  crowd,  which  resembled  nothing  so  much 
as  the  literature  of  the  Luther  League  itself 
in  its  general  "get-up"  and  appearance.  On 
perusal,  however,  it  proved  to  be  of  quite  a 
different  tenor,  being  nothing  else  than  ex- 
tracts from  the  best-known  English  news- 
papers on  Mr.  Hamlyn  and  his  mission.  This 
was  very  trying  and  disturbed  the  harmony 
of  many  meetings. 

In  the  assemblies  convened  at  halls  hired 
for  the  occasion, — admission  by  ticket  only,— 
it  frequently  happened  that  some  well-known 
local  resident,  who  could  not  be  denied,  made 
his  appearance,  and  with  a  few  weighty  words 
entirely  changed  the  character  of  the  meeting. 
The  reports  from  his  myrmidons  all  over  the 
country,  which  reached  Mr.  Hamlyn  in  the 
Strand,  showed  a  series  of  counter-moves 
which  alarmed  him  in  their  neatness  and 
ingenuity. 

It  had  been  for  months  a  pleasing  habit  of 
the  peripatetic  Protestants  under  the  Ham- 
lyn banner  to  visit  churches  and  make  notes 


2i8  A  Lost  Cause 

of  the  ornaments  therein,  afterwards  lecturing 
on  them  in  their  own  inimitable  and  humor- 
ous manner  to  crowds  in  back  streets. 

Mr.  MofTatt,  indeed — the  young  gentleman 
who  had  forsaken  the  plumbing  and  gas- 
fitting  industry  to  become  incandescent  and 
watery  on  the  Protestant  war-path — had 
more  than  once  broken  a  small  crucifix  with 
an  umbrella.  The  lecturers  found,  however, 
that,  as  if  by  some  concerted  action,  church 
doors  were  locked  wherever  they  might  go. 
The  poor  fellows'  hunger  for  the  sight  of 
candlesticks  and  sanctuary  lamps  was  hardly 
ever  gratified  now,  and  they  were  compelled 
to  the  somewhat  ignominious  expedient  of 
nailing  the  bulls  of  Mr.  Hamlyn  to  the  doors 
of  sacred  buildings  and  going  gloomily  away. 

On  one  occasion,  Mr.  Moffatt,  who  was  a 
young  fellow  of  considerable  hardihood,  ar- 
rived at  a  well-known  sink  of  ritual  during 
the  week,  where  the  incense  used  in  church 
cost,  it  was  reported,  as  much  as  eight  shillings 
a  pound!  Failing  in  every  effort  to  penetrate 
the  building,  one  Sunday  morning  he  mingled 
with  a  group  of  worshippers  and  made  an 
attempt  to  enter  the  church.  Being  a  some- 
what tubby  youth  of  no  great  height,  he  fol- 
lowed closely  on  the  footsteps  of  a  ponderous 


Low  Water  and  Great  Expectations    219 

gentleman  quite  six  feet  high,  and  congratu- 
lated himself  he  was  escaping  observation, 
just  as  one  has  seen  a  small  dog  slink  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  tempting  joint  upon  the 
dinner-table.  His  hopes  were  doomed  to 
failure.  He  was  almost  inside  the  porch 
when  two  stalwart  church  wardens  barred 
the  way  and  read  him  a  paper,  which  stated 
that,  as  he  was  a  known  brawler  who  had 
been  convicted  of  other  illegal  disturbances  in 
God's  house,  entry  was  refused  him. 

At  the  moment,  in  his  chagrin  and  sur- 
prise, Mr.  Moffatt  could  think  of  no  better  re- 
tort than  an  injunction  to  the  reader  of  the 
document  to  ' '  keep  his  hair  on. "  Then,  gath- 
ering his  faculties  together,  he  commenced  a 
vigorous  protest  as  to  his  rights  as  a  "bap- 
tized, confirmed  communicant  member  of  the 
Church  of  England"  to  make  one  of  the  con- 
gregation. No  answer  whatever  was  vouch- 
safed him,  and  he  was  compelled  to  stand 
meekly  by  while  the  usual  members  of  the 
congregation  were  admitted. 

He  bethought  himself  of  an  appeal  to  the 
majesty  of  the  law!  "Very  well,  then,"  he 
said,  "I  shall  go  and  fetch  a  policeman. 
That 'sail." 

One  of  the  church  wardens  opened  the  inner 


220  A  Lost  Cause 

door  of  the  church  and  beckoned  to  some  one. 
A  sergeant  of  police,  in  his  uniform,  emerged 
quietly.  Mr.  Moffatt  started,  muttered  some- 
thing about  "writing  to  the  Bishop,"  and 
left  the  vicinity  of  the  church  without  further 
ado. 

And  it  was  thus  all  over  the  country. 
Hamlyn  and  his  son  realised  that  a  strong 
and  powerful  organisation  was  arrayed  against 
them.  Their  tactics  were  counter-checked  at 
every  turn. 

As  a  natural  consequence  of  all  this,  the  sub- 
scriptions to  the  League  fell  away  at  a  most 
alarming  rate.  The  street  and  public  hall 
collections  of  the  lecturers  dwindled  until 
they  could  hardly  pay  themselves  their  own 
modest  emoluments.  The  general  subscrip- 
tions and  special  donations  to  the  head  office 
were  in  a  no  less  unsatisfactory  condition. 

A  very  great  number  of  people,  with  an 
honest  dislike  and  distrust  of  practices  which 
seemed  to  them  against  the  law  of  the  Church 
of  England  (as  they  understood  it),  had  hith- 
erto sent  Hamlyn  considerable  sums  of  money. 
His  campaign  seemed  to  them  a  real  and 
efficacious  method  of  dealing  with  the  ques- 
tion, and  his  methods  had  not  been  very  clear 
to  them  in  their  actual  detail. 


Low  Water  and  Great  Expectations    221 

But  when  the  most  influential  part  of  the 
press  began  to  speak  with  no  uncertain  voice, 
these  people  began  to  hurriedly  repudiate  any 
connection  with  the  Luther  League  and  to  tie 
their  purse-strings  in  a  very  tight  knot  in- 
deed. Then,  again,  there  was  a  second  not 
inconsiderable  class  of  people  whose  support 
was  withdrawn.  These  were  more  or  less  of 
the  Miss  Pritchett  order.  They  had  some  real 
or  fancied  grievance  against  the  vicar  of  the 
parish  in  which  they  lived,  and  the  machinery 
of  Hamlyn's  League  was  found  to  be  at  their 
service  for  the  purposes  of  revenge.  Under 
the  cover  of  religious  truth  they  were  able  to 
gratify  a  private  spite — a  method  of  cam- 
paign as  old  as  history  itself.  The  aims  of 
these  people  had  been  achieved.  That  is  to 
say,  Mr.  Hamlyn  or  his  friends  had  made 
themselves  more  or  less  a  thorn  in  the  sides 
of  the  local  olergy,  had  "banged  the  field- 
piece,  twanged  the  lyre,"  and  departed  with 
as  much  money  as  they  were  able  to  collect 
in  the  cause  of  Protestant  Truth. 

And  those  people  who  had  first  moved  in 
the  matter  saw  that,  after  all,  the  status  ante 
quo  had  not  been  altered  in  the  least,  that 
nothing  had  happened  at  all!  One  or  two 
people  of  no  importance  whatever  might  have 


222  A  Lost  Cause 

left  the  Church,  but  the  general  result  was, 
as  a  rule,  an  increase  of  the  attacked  congre- 
gation and,  inevitably,  an  enormous  increase 
of  personal  popularity  of  the  priest  and  of 
loyalty  to  him  and  his  teachings. 

So  this  second  class  of  worthies  also  be- 
came hard-hearted  to  the  perfervid  advertise- 
ments of  the  League,  buttoned  up  their 
pockets,  and  tried  to  behave  as  though  the 
names  of  those  twin  greatnesses,  Martin 
Luther  and  Samuel  Hamlyn,  had  never 
crossed  their  lips. 

In  the  offices  in  the  Strand,  all  these  causes 
were  thoroughly  appreciated  and  understood. 
The  prosperity,  or  rather  the  consciousness  of 
it,  which  had  seemed  to  ooze  from  Mr.  Ham- 
lyn's  features,  was  no  more  to  be  seen.  The 
countenance  of  the  Protestant  Pope  wore  an 
anxious  and  harassed  expression  when  he  was 
alone  with  his  son,  and  their  talks  together 
were  frequent  and  of  long  duration. 

One  disastrous  morning  the  post  brought 
nothing  in  the  way  of  fuel  for  the  Protestant 
fire  except  a  single  miserable  little  post-office 
order  for  seven  shillings  and  sixpence,  a  dona- 
tion from  "A  Baptist  Friend." 

Protestant  Truth  was  in  a  bad  way.  Both 
the  Hamlyns  thought  so  as  they  sat  down 


Low  Water  and  Great  Expectations   223 

gloomily  for  a  private  conference  in  the  inner 
room. 

"There's  a  good  balance  in  the  bank,  of 
course,"  Hamlyn  said.  "We've  got  staying 
power  for  some  time  yet,  and  the  salaries  are 
safe.  But  it's  the  future  we've  got  to  look 
to.  The  righteous  cause  can't  go  on  nothing. ' ' 

"Don't  you  worry,  Father,"  said  Sam, 
"that  Exeter  Hall  speaking  has  pulled  you 
down  a  bit.  You're  not  your  real  self.  I 
have  n't  a  doubt  that  you  '11  think  of  some- 
thing to  wake  things  up  in  a  day  or  two." 

"Hope  so,  I'm  sure,  though  I  can't  think 
of  anything  at  present.  But  seven  and  six! 
It 's  the  first  day  Protestantism 's  dropped  be- 
low a  matter  of  two  pound  odd." 

"There's  plenty  of  other  posts  during  the 
day,  Pa." 

' '  That 's  true.  One  day  or  three  days  don't 
matter.  But  it  shows  how  things  are  going. 
The  Romans  have  been  too  cunning  for  us, 
Sam.  The  wiles  of  the  Scarlet  Woman  are 
prevailing;  honest,  straightforward  Protest- 
ants are  being  undermined." 

"But  think  of  the  letters  of  sympathy 
we've  'ad  since  the  great  Ritualistic  conspir- 
acy has  come  up.  The  real  hearty  Protest- 
ants are  as  faithful  as  they  ever  were." 


224  A  Lost  Cause 

"Yes,  they  are,"  said  Mr.  Hamlyn  reflect- 
ively; "we  can  always  fall  back  on  them, 
and  we  Ve  got  some  thousands  of  names  and 
addresses  on  the  books.  The  League  '11  go  on 
safe  enough,  there'll  always  be  labourers  in 
the  vineyard  and  them  as  will  pay  the  over- 
seer his  just  dues.  But  it's  'ard,  after  the 
splendid  success  we  've  had,  to  sink  down  into 
a  small  commonplace  affair  with  just  a  bare 
living.  The  real  red-hot  Protestants,  who  are 
really  afraid  of  Rome  and  that,  are  so  few! 
These  disgusting  newspapers  been  showing  up 
everything  and  the  lukewarm  people  have 
been  falling  away.  All  the  real  money  is 
flowing  back  into  Roman  channels.  If  there 
were  more  really  earnest  Protestants  we  might 
keep  on  as  good  as  ever.  But  there's  not. 
We  have  n't  sold  a  gross  of  Bloody  Marys  dur- 
ing the  month.  It's  a  pity  we  had  to  sup- 
press the  Confessional;  that  was  a  real  seller 
— and  did  a  lot  of  good,"  Mr.  Hamlyn  added 
as  an  afterthought. 

"We  couldn't  well  do  no  other  after  the 
'int  we  got  from  the  Vigilance  people,"  said 
Sam. 

"I  suppose  not.     But  it  was  a  great  pity." 

"You're  due  at  Malakoff  House  to-night, 
aren't  you,  Pa?" 


Low  Water  and  Great  Expectations    225 

"Yes,  at  seven.  I'm  very  uneasy  in  my 
mind  about  Miss  P.,  Sam." 

"Gussie  says  she's  worse  than  she  knows 
herself.  She  has  n't  been  out  of  bed  for  a 
fortnight  now." 

"She 's  not  long  for  this  world,  I 'm  afraid," 
Hamlyn  answered.  "While  she's  alive  we 
are  fairly  safe.  But  when  she's  in  Glory 
where  shall  we  be?" 

"That's  the  question,  Father.  Gussie 
knows  nothing  and  can't  find  out  anything, 
neither.  A  really  handsome  legacy  invested 
in  some  good  stock  would  put  us  right  again 
whatever  might  happen." 

"It  would.  But  just  at  present  the  old 
lady  's  awful  to  deal  with.  You  see,  I  'm  in 
an  awkward  position,  Sam.  I'm  not  such  a 
fool  as  to  tell  her  how  we've  been  bested 
lately — that's  to  say,  I  can't  bring  myself  to 
wound  a  faithful  Protestant  heart  by  stories 
of  persecution  of  them  as  is  doing  the  Lord's 
work  against  Rome.  Miss  P.  don't  know 
anything  about  the  checks  we've  received  of 
late.  Well,  then,  she's  always  bothering  me 
to  know  why  we  are  n't  keeping  it  up  in 
Hornham,  why  we  are  n't  going  for  Blantyre 
and  that  lot.  She  hears  everything  that  goes 
on  in  the  parish,  though  Gussie  Davies  does 


226  A  Lost  Cause 

her  best  to  stop  it.  But  she  don't  seem  to 
trust  Gussie  as  she  did,  which  is  a  pity.  Miss 
P.  quite  sees  that,  for  some  reason  or  other, 
things  have  gone  quiet  in  the  parish,  and  she 's 
getting  restive.  Something  must  be  done 
soon,  that 's  quite  evident.  Some  big  thing  to 
wake  her  up — and  everyone  else,  too." 

"It  doesn't  matter  much  how  far  we  go 
now." 

"Not  a  bit.  The  further  the  better,  as  a 
matter  of  fact.  The  lecturers'  hands  are  so 
tied  now,  what  with  all  these  cunning  moves 
of  the  Romanists,  that  they  can't  do  any- 
thing. It  seems  we  've  alienated  all  the  mod- 
erate people  and  we  've  only  the  extreme  ones 
to  rely  on.  Well,  then,  we  must  wake  them 
up,  that's  all.  The  papers  can't  well  say 
worse  of  us  than  they  do  already,  so  it  really 
is  the  best  policy  to  give  the  whole  country  a 
regular  startler.  I  can't  think  of  anything 
new  at  present,  but  I  shall.  I  expect  a  bit 
of  inspiration '11  come  before  long.  Anyway, 
I  shall  tell  Miss  Pritchett  to-night  to  wait  and 
have  patience  a  little  longer,  as  there 's  some- 
thing in  the  wind  that  will  do  all  she  wants. 
It 's  her  illness.  She  must  have  continual  bits 
of  excitement  to  keep  her  going,  it 's  a  regular 
disease  with  her  now.  If  I  can  think  of  a  good 


Low  Water  and  Great  Expectations    227 

scheme  to  liven  up  things  generally,  in  the 
first  flush  of  it  she'll  be  so  pleased  that  we 
might  venture  a  word  or  two  upon  her  testa- 
mentary dispositions.  I  should  feel  so  much 
happier  about  the  Cause  if  I  knew  the  League 
was  down  in  her  will  for  a  thumping  sum. 
Of  course,  anything  of  the  sort  would  have 
to  be  said  most  careful.  She  'd  get  up  and  be 
healthy  again  in  a  week  if  she  thought  we 
thought  she  was  going  to  peg  out! " 

Mr.  Hamlyn  concluded  his  remarks  with  a 
somewhat  resentful  sigh,  and,  whistling  down 
the  speaking-tube  for  the  correspondence 
clerk,  began  to  dictate  his  morning's  letters. 

It  was  about  seven  o'clock  when  the  secre- 
tary arrived  at  Malakoff  House,  tired  and 
dispirited.  The  whole  day  had  gone  unsatis- 
factorily. An  evening  paper  had  come  out  with 
a  leaded  column  about  the  League  which  was 
far  from  complimentary.  The  various  callers 
at  the  office  were  all  more  or  less  dis- 
agreeable, and  even  the  volatile  Samuel  had 
been  plunged  into  a  state  of  furtive  gloom 
that  radiated  mis-ease  upon  all  who  came 
near  him. 

Mr.  Hamlyn  was  shown  into  the  drawing- 
room  and  in  a  minute  or  two,  Gussie  Davies 
came  to  him.  The  girl  was  white  and  tired 


228  A  Lost  Cause 

of  feature.  Dark,  semicircles  were  under  her 
eyes,  but  her  manner  had  a  nervous  excite- 
ment that  was  infectious. 

Both  of  them  spoke  in  that  agitated  whis- 
per that  some  people  affect  in  the  neighbour- 
hood of  those  who  are  seriously  ill  and  whom 
they  think  like  to  die.  It  is  a  whisper  in 
which  there  is  a  not  unpleasurable  note,  a 
self -congratulation  at  being  near  to  the  Great 
Mystery,  as  spectators  merely. 

"How  is  she?"  whispered  Hamlyn. 

"Bad,"  answered  Gussie.  "Dr.  Hibbert  's 
been  and  I  had  a  chat  with  him  afterwards. 
He  dare  n't  speak  as  plain  as  he  'd  like,  for 
fear  of  frightening  her.  But  he  says  she 
must  not  keep  on  exciting  herself.  It  will 
be  fatal  if  she  does.  Another  two  months  of 
this  St.  Elwyn's  excitement  will  kill  her,  Mr. 
Hamlyn.  I'm  sure  of  that." 

' '  What 's  she  been  saying  ? ' ' 

"Oh,  the  same  old  thing:  Why  doesn't 
Mr.  Hamlyn  do  something  decisive?  Why 
does  n't  he  strike  these  proud  priests  some 
crushing  blow?  You  know  she's  heard  that 
Miss  Blantyre  has  come  to  live  at  the  vicar- 
age, and  that  makes  her  keener  than  ever." 

"Well,  I  must  think  of  something,  that's 
all,"  said  the  secretary  in  a  decisive  whisper. 


Low  Water  and  Great  Expectations    229 

" I'll  promise  her  a  new  move  almost  at  once. 
I  suppose  you've  had  no  chance  to  get  in  a 
word  about  the  will?" 

"Not  a  chance.  I  can't  find  out  anything 
either.  All  I  know  is  that  her  solicitor  has  n't 
been  here  since  she  joined  the  League.  So 
that  looks  as  if  there  is  n't  anything  done 
yet." 

"I  don't  suppose  there  is,  my  dear.  But 
if  I  can  keep  her  quiet  now,  and  do  something 
big  in  the  parish  in  a  few  days,  then  I  sup- 
pose we  might  broach  it?" 

"Certainly,  Mr.  Hamlyn,  I  should  say  so." 

"Good.  One  more  question,  Gussie,  before 
I  go  up.  Do  you  think  it  wise  to  mention  a 
contribution  to  the  working  fund  just  now? 
One  can  never  be  too  zealous  in  the  cause  of 
Protestant  Truth,  but  I  want  to  deal  wisely 
with  her." 

"Oh,  I  think  you'll  be  safe  enough  for  a 
hundred  or  two,"  Gussie  said,  "as  long  as 
you  promise  her  a  good  rumpus  soon!  She 
ain't  mean,  I  will  say  that  for  her." 

Mr.  Hamlyn  nodded  in  a  brisk,  business- 
like way,  rang  for  the  maid,  and  was  shown 
up  to  the  sick-room. 

Gussie  remained  in  the  drawing-room.  She 
wondered  how  successful  her  friend  and 


230  A  Lost  Cause 

lover's  father  would  be.  She  had  immense 
faith  in  his  abilities  and  already  looked  for- 
ward to  the  time  when,  released  for  ever  from 
her  duties  at  Malakoff  House,  she  would,  as 
Mrs.  Hamlyn,  Junior,  become  a  leading  lady 
of  True  Protestantism.  Not  that  the  girl 
hated  her  employer.  She  had  no  affection  for 
Miss  Pritchett — and  it  would  have  been  won- 
derful if  she  had — but  her  feeling  was  not 
stronger  than  that.  As  for  the  money  ques- 
tion, the  money  that  the  rich  old  lady  was 
giving  to  the  Luther  League,  Gussie  saw  no 
harm  in  that.  The  money  was  for  a  good 
cause,  so  she  believed,  and  the  Hamlyns,  pere 
et  fils,  had  much  better  have  the  handling  of 
it  than  any  one  else! 

Mr.  Hamlyn  was  a  considerable  time.  The 
girl  wandered  about  the  room,  agog  to  hear 
his  news,  thinking  with  a  certain  terror  of  the 
grim  old  woman  upstairs.  For  what  had  been 
tartness  and  acerbity  had  become  grimness 
now,  in  the  pompous  old-fashioned  bed- 
chamber, where  she  lay  waiting  the  beating 
of  those  great  black  wings  which  all,  save 
she,  knew  were  drawing  near. 

Although  Gussie  Davis  knew  all  the  foibles 
of  her  mistress  and  could  play  upon  them  with 
adroitness  and  success,  she  felt,  nevertheless, 


Low  Water  and  Great  Expectations    231 

a  fear  of  the  old  woman.  Miss  Pritchett, 
with  all  her  absurdities,  her  petty  jealousies, 
her  greed  for  flattery,  was  a  woman  with 
a  personality.  She  was  very  rich,  and  she 
had  chosen  to  remain  among  the  surround^ 
ings  of  her  youth  and  be  great  among  the 
small.  Yet  even  a  petty  supremacy  awes  the 
petty,  and  the  sly  Welsh  girl  was  indubitably 
awed.  She  was  not  wholly  bad,  not  unfeel- 
ing in  her  way,  but  she  was  weak.  In  the 
hands  of  the  Hamlyns,  she  had  been  as  putty 
from  the  very  first.  They  were  strong  men. 
There  was  no  doubt  about  that.  With  all  the 
temperamental  vulgarity  and  greed  of  both 
father  and  son,  there  was  indubitable  strength 
— and,  in  the  case  of  the  elder,  considerable 
magnetic  power. 

They  had  been  kind  to  her  also.  She  was 
genuinely  fond  of  Sam,  and  he  was  fond  of 
her.  The  accident  of  her  position,  that  she 
was  able  to  help  and  forward  their  plans, 
made  no  difference  as  to  that.  Hamlyn,  Se- 
nior, liked  her.  He  would,  she  knew,  be  kind 
and  fatherly  to  her  when  she  was  married  to 
Sam.  He  was  that  now. 

For,  if  Hamlyn  had  been  able  to  employ 
his  cleverness  to  good  advantage  in  the  ex- 
ploitation of  any  other  thing  save  of  religion, 


232  A  Lost  Cause 

he  would  have  been  counted  as  a  shrewd  busi- 
ness man  and  nothing  more.  Nothing  worse 
than  that  at  any  rate.  He  had  no  personal 
vices.  He  did  not  in  the  least  realise  that  he 
was  living  a  life  that  was  shameful.  Religion 
meant  no  more  to  him  than  any  other  way 
of  making  money  would  have  meant.  That 
was  all.  And,  oddly  enough,  Blantyre  himself 
shrewdly  suspected  this,  while  Carr  looked 
upon  the  agitator  as  infamous. 

Hamlyn  was  perfectly  aware  that  he  was  a 
humbug,  but  he  thought  that  his  humbug  was 
perfectly  legitimate  in  the  war  of  life. 

The  priest  at  St.  Elwyn's  whom  he  had  so 
bitterly  attacked  and  wounded  was  a  psy- 
chologist. Most  priests  are.  Men  who  sit  in 
churches  and  hear  the  true  story  of  men's 
lives  learn  an  infinite  tenderness.  Men  come 
to  them  for  comfort,  to  hear  the  comfortable 
words  that  our  Lord  has  spoken  for  the  sinful 
who  are  penitent,  to  receive  from  them  that 
absolution  which  is  nothing  more  than  the 
confirmation,  in  a  concrete  and  certain  way, 
of  the  promise  of  God.  It  is  only  the  people 
who  have  never  confessed  their  sins,  not  to  a 
priest,  but  to  God  through  a  priest,  who 
speak  against  the  Sacrament  of  Penance. 

They  do  not  know  they  are  tilting  at  wind- 


Low  Water  and  Great  Expectations    233 

mills.  And  the  bitter  shame  that  sometimes 
comes  to  a  man  as  he  tells  another  man  the 
true  story  of  his  life  is  in  itself  the  truest 
evidence  that  he  means  to  amend  it.  No  one 
would  do  that  without  penitence.  There  is  a 
motive  for  every  action ;  the  motive  would  be 
wanting  if  confession  were  made  without  a 
resolve  to  lead  a  new  life  If  those  who  ful- 
minate against  the  Church's  method,  and 
sneer  at  the  members  of  the  Church  who  fol- 
low it,  as  dupes  and  fools,  could  understand 
that  it  is  discipline  that  purifies  and  exalts, 
they  would  sneer  no  longer.  It  is  all  very 
well  to  be  a  franc-tireur,  no  doubt.  But  it  is 
better  to  be  a  member  of  the  regular  forces. 
It  is  not  so  jolly  for  a  time,  perhaps,  but  in 
event  of  capture,  the  former  is  shot  at  sight, 
the  latter  becomes  a  prisoner  of  war  with  all 
the  rights  and  traditions  of  his  lot. 

Simile  was  one  of  Mr.  Hamlyn's  pet  weap- 
ons, but  in  his  noisy  syllogisms,  he  left  out  the 
first  two  premises  and  confined  himself  to  the 
conclusion — generally  an  emphatic  epithet. 

Mr.  Hamlyn  came  down-stairs  at  last.  His 
face  was  grave,  but  peaceful.  Perspiration 
showed  upon  it.  He  had  been  having  a  hard 
time. 

"I  say,  my  dear,"  he  whispered,  "I  wonder 


234  A  Lost  Cause 

if  you've  got  a  cup  of  tea  handy.  I've  had 
a  thick  time!" 

It  is  better  to  take  the  stimulant  of  tea 
than  the  more  usual  brandy  and  soda.  Ham- 
lyn  was  a  strong  teetotaller,  and  that  counted 
to  his  credit  at  a  moment  like  this.  For  the 
man  had  obviously  been  through  an  unnerv- 
ing experience.  He  was  not  his  ready  and 
impudent  self. 

The  tea  was  brought.     It  revived  him. 

"Well!"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "I  don't 
want  to  go  through  many  scenes  like  that 
again,  Gussie!  She's  getting  worse  and 
worse.  Her  brain  can't  last  much  longer  if 
she  goes  on  like  this!  However,  I  managed  to 
calm  her  down.  She 's  going  off  to  sleep  now. 
I  told  her  I'd  wake  Hornham  up  in  a  few 
days — and  I'll  have  to  do  it,  what's  more!" 

"Did  you  get  a  cheque?"  said  the  practical 
Gussie. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hamlyn  in  a  slightly  more 
relieved  voice.  ' '  She  gave  me  a  couple  of  hund- 
red in  the  end.  At  heart,  she's  devoted  to 
the  cause  of  Protestant  Truth.  But  she's 
getting  horribly  restive,  my  dear.  I  'm  sorry 
for  her.  She's  a  wreck  of  what  she  used  to 
be — but  she 's  a  wreck  that ,  wants  a  lot  of 
salvage!" 


Low  Water  and  Great  Expectations    235 

The  colour  came  back  into  the  plump, 
clean-shaven  face  as  the  tea  did  its  work. 

"I  forgot,  my  dear,"  he  said;  "I  brought 
you  a  box  of  chocolates.  It  clean  went  out 
of  my  'ead,"  he  waved  an  exhausted  hand 
towards  his  small  brown  leather  bag,  which 
stood  on  the  table  between  a  plaster  model 
of  the  leaning  tower  of  Pisa  and  a  massive 
volume  entitled  Every  Young  Lady's  Vade 
Mecum. 

Gussie  smiled  her  thanks  and  opened  the 
bag,  while  Mr.  Hamlyn  poured  out  another 
cup  of  tea. 

Gussie  felt  in  the  bag.  It  was  full  of  papers, 
but  there  were  two  parcels  there.  She  took 
them  out.  They  were  of  much  the  same  size. 
Each  was  neatly  tied  up  in  white  paper. 

She  pulled  the  string  from  one  of  them.  A 
number  of  thin  semi-transparent  white  wafers 
fell  out  upon  the  table. 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry!"  she  cried,  "I  thought 
this  was  the  box  of  chocolates." 

Hamyln  looked  up  wearily.  To  his  im- 
measurable surprise,  he  saw  that  the  girl's 
face  had  grown  very  pale.  She  shrunk  away 
from  the  table. 

"What's  the  matter,  my  dear?"  he  said, 
thoroughly  alarmed. 


236  A  Lost  Cause 

She  suddenly  flushed  a  deep  scarlet. 

"What  are  these?"  she  said,  pointing  with 
a  shaking  finger  to  the  things  on  the  table. 

"Them?"  said  Mr.  Harnlyn  in  cheerful  sur- 
prise. "Mass  wafers,  my  dear.  I  buy  them 
in  a  shop  in  Co  vent  Garden.  We  distribute 
them  among  the  Luther  Lecturers,  for  object 
lessons  to  the  poor  deluded  Ritualists." 

The  girl  had  crouched  to  the  wall  of  the 
room.  Hamlyn  was  seriously  alarmed.  Her 
face  was  almost  purple,  her  eyes  started  out 
of  her  head. 

"  They  're  not  con — consecrated  ?  "  she 
gasped. 

Hamlyn  could  not  understand  her  emotion. 
"No,"  he  said;  "why,  Gussie,  what  a  super- 
stitious little  thing  you  are.  And  if  they 
were,  what  then?"  Frank  amazement  showed 
on  his  face. 

"Oh,  nothing,  Mr.  Hamlyn,"  the  girl  said 
at  length,  becoming  more  normal  in  her 
manner. 

In  a  few  minutes,  Hamlyn  left  the  house, 
leaving  the  girl  in  her  ordinary  manner,  eat- 
ing the  chocolates  that  he  had  brought  her. 

His  able  mind  was  busily  at  work.  He 
knew  that  during  Miss  Pritchett's  adhesion  to 
St.  Elwyn's  Gussie  had,  perforce,  been  one  of 


Low  Water  and  Great  Expectations    237 

the  congregation  there  and  had  been  taught 
and  trained  by  the  clergy. 

"No  wonder,"  he  thought  bitterly  to  him- 
self; "no  wonder  that  they  can  win  along  the 
line,  when  they  can  sow  seeds  like  that  in  a 
girl's  mind.  Why,  she's  a  thorough  little 
Protestant  at  heart.  To  think  that  those 
things  should  have  startled  her  so!  It's  a 
lingering  prejudice,  I  suppose.  They  are  a 
queer  lot — the  Romanists!" 

As  he  communed  thus  with  himself,  a  swift 
thought  came  to  him.  At  the  moment  of 
its  arrival  in  his  brain,  he  almost  staggered. 
Then,  pulling  himself  together,  he  walked 
rapidly  to  his  own  house. 

He  thought  he  saw  his  way  to  a  coup  that 
would  make  all  his  previous  efforts  as  nothing. 
How  wonderfully  simple  it  was!  Why  had 
he  never  thought  of  it  before — what  a  fool  he 
had  been!  Here  was  the  solution  of  all  the 
difficulties  he  was  in.  The  answer  seemed  to 
have  come  to  his  conversation  with  Samuel 
in  the  morning. 

He  went  to  his  study  and  fortunately  found 
that  Sam  was  already  there.  Miss  Maud 
Hamlyn  sat  in  the  room  also,  but  when  she 
saw  her  father's  face,  she  left  the  room  at 
once.  It  wore  the  "business  look"  she  knew 


238  A  Lost  Cause 

well,  and,  though  she  but  dimly  understood 
what  her  brother  and  father  were  engaged  in, 
she  knew  it  had  brought  great  prosperity  and 
honour  to  all  of  them,  and  was  loath  to  intrude 
upon  any  profitable  confabulation. 

"Have  you  got  it,  Pa?"  said  Samuel, 
eagerly. 

"Yes,  I  'ave,"  answered  the  secretary, 
"and  very  fine  it  is  too!" 

"How  much?"  asked  Sam. 

' '  What  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

"The  cheque,  Miss  Pritchett's  latest." 

"Oh,  that"  said  Hamlyn.  "Two  hundred, 
what  we  expected.  I  meant  something  else. 
I've  got  the  new  scheme  to  wake  things  up! 
The  best  thing  we've  done  yet,  my  boy!" 

Sam  rubbed  his  hands.  "What  did  I  say 
this  morning  ?  I  knew  you  'd  do  it,  Pa.  Well, 
let 'shave  it." 

Mr.  Hamlyn  sat  back  in  his  chair,  willing  to 
dally  a  moment  with  his  triumph  and  enjoy 
the  full  savour  of  it. 

"Why  we  never  thought  of  it  before,"  he 
said,  "beats  me  entirely!  Something  sug- 
gested it  to  me  to-night,  and  I've  been  won- 
dering at  our  neglecting  such  a  move." 

"What  wit  then?" 

"What  about  one  of  us  going  to  the  Mass 


Low  Water  and  Great  Expectations    239 

and  bringing  away  the  consecrated  wafer? 
Then  a  big  public  meeting's  called  and  I 
show  the  people  what  we've  got!  The  'flour- 
and-water  god'  of  the  Romanists!  Not  the 
usual  plan  of  producing  a  wafer  we  've  bought 
from  a  shop,  but  the  real  thing,  Sam!  Then 
they  11  all  be  able  to  see  that  there 's  no  differ- 
ence between  before  and  after!  It'll  ex- 
plode the  whole  thing  and  give  the  League 
an  advertisement  better  than  anything  that 's 
gone  before!" 

Sam  looked  very  grave  indeed.  "It's  a 
little  bit  too  much,  I'm  afraid,  Father,"  he 
said. 

"What  do  you  mean,  my  son?"  answered 
the  secretary  in  extreme  and  real  surprise. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  Sam  said  doubt- 
fully, "but  I  shouldn't  like  to  meddle  with 
it  myself." 

Mr.  Hamlyn  leaned  forward.  "Sam,"  he 
said,  ' '  you  're  a  fool.  You  're  as  bad  as  Gussie 
Davies!  Leave  the  matter  to  me.  Who's 
awakened  Protestantism  in  Hengland?  ME! 
Who  knows  how  to  work  a  popular  cause? 
ME!  Who's  going  to  boom  the  Luther 
League  up  to  the  top  again ?  ME! " 

"Have  it  your  own  way,  Father,"  Sam 
said,  "you  generally  do  come  out  on  top." 


240  A  Lost  Cause 

"Ring  the  bell  for  some  tea,"  said  Mr. 
Hamlyn,  "and  let's  talk  out  the  details. 
We  11  'ave  to  get  it  where  we  are  n't  known 
by  sight." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   NEWS   THAT   CARR   BROUGHT 

AS  the  days  wore  on,  and  Lucy  Blantyre 
became  accustomed  to  her  surround- 
ings, she  found  that  she  was  in  thorough  tune 
with  them.  During  the  year  she  had  been 
away  from  St.  Elwyn's,  she  had  spent  most  of 
the  time  abroad,  at  first  with  Lady  Linquest, 
afterwards  with  friends.  The  old  life  of 
fashionable  people  and  "smart"  doings  palled 
horribly.  Travelling  was  a  diversion  from 
that,  and,  in  some  sense,  a  preparation  for  the 
more  useful  life  that  she  determined  to  live 
in  the  future. 

She  had  quite  made  up  her  mind  to  that. 
Nothing  would  induce  her  to  go  back  to  live 
in  Park  Lane  once  more.  Life  offered  far 
more  than  the  West  End  of  London  could 
offer;  so  much  was  plain.  She  kept  up  a 
regular  correspondence  with  her  brother  and 
was  fully  informed  of  all  that  took  place  in 
Hornham.  Her  thoughts  turned  more  and 
more  affectionately  towards  the  dingy  old 

16 

241 


242  A  Lost  Cause 

house,  centre  of  such  ceaseless  activities,  the 
old  house  with  the  great  church  watching 
over  it. 

Down  there  it  seemed  as  if  provision  was 
made  for  all  one's  needs  of  the  mind.  Stress 
and  storm  beat  upon  it  in  vain,  and  it  com- 
bined the  joys  of  both  the  cloister  and  the 
hearth. 

In  her  limited  experience,  there  had  been 
nothing  like  it.  A  year  or  two  ago,  she  would 
have  smiled  incredulously  if  any  one  had  told 
her  that  she  would  like  going  to  church  twice 
or  three  times  on  a  week-day.  But  during 
her  stay  at  St.  Elwyn's  how  natural  and  help- 
ful it  had  seemed,  how  much  a  part  of  the 
proper  order  of  things.  The  morning  Eu- 
charist while  day  in  the  outside  world  was 
beginning,  the  stately  and  beautiful  even- 
song as  men  ceased  their  toil,  these  coloured 
all  the  day,  were  woven  into  its  warp  and 
woof.  She  knew  that  the  abnormal  life  was 
the  life  of  the  majority,  the  life  of  those  who 
lived  in  a  purely  secular  way,who  never  wor- 
shipped or  prayed. 

When  any  mind,  in  its  settling  of  its  atti- 
tude towards  the  Unseen,  gets  as  far  as  this; 
when  it  realises  that,  despite  the  laughter  of 
fools  and  the  indifference  of  most  people,  the 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     243 

logical  use  of  life  is  to  make  it  in  constant 
touch  with  God,  then,  as  a  rule,  the  personal 
religious  conviction  will  come  in  due  time. 
It  had  not  come  to  Lucy  yet  in  full  and  satis- 
fying measure,  it  had  not  come  even  when 
she  determined  to  make  her  home  with  her 
brother  for  a  time  and  help  in  any  way  she 
could. 

During  the  year  of  travel,  she  was  also  in 
regular  communication  with  James  Poyntz. 
Insensibly  his  letters  to  her  had  become  the 
letters  of  a  lover.  He  told  her  all  his  thoughts 
and  the  details  of  his  work  and  hopes,  and, 
mingling  with  what  were  in  fact  a  series  of 
brilliant  personal  confessions,  there  began  to 
be  a  high  note  of  personal  devotion  to  her. 
One  does  not  need  the  simple  alphabet  of 
lover's  words  to  write  love  letters.  Poyntz 
used  no  terms  of  endearment,  and  as  yet  had 
made  her  no  definite  proposal  of  marriage. 
But  the  girl  knew,  quite  certainly,  exactly 
how  he  felt  towards  her.  There  was  no 
disguise  in  his  letters,  and  the  time  was 
drawing  near  when  he  would  definitely  ask 
her  to  share  his  life. 

She  had  not  yet  definitely  summed  up  her 
attitude  towards  him.  She  was  at  the  cross- 
ing of  the  roads;  new  influences,  new  ideas 


244  A  Lost  Cause 

were  pouring  into  her  brain  from  every  side. 
It  was  necessary  to  readjust  herself  to  life 
completely  before  she  could  settle  upon  any 
course. 

She  knew  that  to  be  Lady  Huddersfield 
was  to  take  a  high  seat  in  Vanity  Fair.  The 
Huddersfields  belonged  to  the  old  order  of 
society,  to  that  inner  circle  of  the  great  who 
never  open  their  door  indiscriminately  to 
the  Jew  and  the  mining  millionaire.  People 
laughed  at  them  and  called  them  pompous 
and  dull,  but  there  was  a  high  serenity  among 
them  nevertheless.  She  might  have  married 
half  a  dozen  times  had  she  so  chosen.  Her 
income  was  large  enough  to  make  her  a  small 
heiress,  at  any  rate  to  be  an  appreciable  fac- 
tor in  the  case,  besides  which  her  birth  was 
unexceptionable.  It  was  known  that  when 
Lady  Linquest  fluttered  away  to  another 
world,  the  old  lady's  money  would  come  to 
her  niece.  But  position  merely,  rank  rather, 
did  not  attract  a  girl  who  already  went  wher- 
ever she  chose.  And  among  the  men  in  so- 
ciety who  had  offered  her  marriage,  or  were 
prepared  to  do  so,  she  found  no  one  capable 
of  satisfying  her  brain.  Poyntz  did  this.  She 
found  power  in  him,  strength,  purpose.  She 
knew  that,  in  whatever  station  of  life  he  was, 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     245 

the  man  was  finely  tempered,  high  in  that  aris- 
tocracy of  intellect  which  some  people  say  is 
the  only  aristocracy  there  is. 

She  was  conscious  of  all  this,  but,  especially 
since  she  had  been  settled  in  the  vicarage  as 
a  home,  she  was  becoming  conscious  of 
many  other  influences  at  work  upon  her.  Re- 
ligion, the  personal  giving  of  one's  self  to 
God,  was  tinging  all  her  life  and  actions  now. 
Hour  by  hour,  she  found  herself  drawing 
nearer  to  the  Cross.  Her  progress  had  be- 
come a  matter  of  practical  experience.  It 
was  impossible  to  live  with  the  people  she  was 
among,  to  watch  every  detail  of  their  lives, 
to  find  exactly  where  the  motive  power  and  the 
sustaining  power  came  from,  without  casting 
in  her  lot  with  them  in  greater  or  less  degree. 
Every  day  she  found  some  hold  upon  the  out- 
side world  was  loosened,  something  she  had 
imagined  had  great  value  in  her  eyes  sud- 
denly seemed  quite  worthless!  Looked  at  in 
the  light  that  was  beginning  to  shine  upon 
her,  she  was  frequently  surprised  beyond 
measure  to  find  how  worthless  most  things 
were!  Her  brain  was  keen,  cool,  and  logical. 
Hitherto  she  had  refused  to  draw  an  infer- 
ence— no  proof,  by  the  way,  of  any  want  of 
logical  skill ; — now  she  was  drawing  it. 


246  A  Lost  Cause 

She  was  great  and  intimate  friends  with 
the  two  assistant  priests,  Stephens  and  King. 
Stephens  was  engaged  to  a  girl  in  the  country, 
King  belonged  to  some  confraternity  of  celi- 
bates. Both  were  high-minded  men,  who  ap- 
preciated to  the  full  the  charm  of  cultured 
feminine  society  and  found  her  drawing- 
room  a  most  pleasant  oasis  now  and  then. 
And  every  one  at  the  clergy-house  began  to 
see  a  great  deal  of  Mr.  Carr.  The  lonely  man 
found  companionship  and  sympathy  there. 
He  found  intellectual  men,  university  men 
like  himself,  with  whom  he  could  talk.  He 
had  been  intellectually  starving  in  Hornham, 
and  good  brains  rust  unless  they  have  some 
measure  of  intercourse  with  their  kind. 

He  was  constantly  with  his  new  friends. 
One  Sunday  Father  Blantyre  preached  at  St. 
Luke's.  The  church  was  crowded,  to  hear  a 
man  whom  a  great  many  there  believed  ca- 
pable of  almost  any  form  of  casuistry  and  sly 
dealing.  But  when  the  little  Irishman  got 
into  the  pulpit  he  gave  them  a  simple,  forcible 
discourse  on  some  points  of  conduct,  deliv- 
ered with  all  his  personal  charm,  his  native 
raciness  and  wit ;  many  wagging  tongues  were 
silenced  in  the  parish.  Carr's  experiment  was 
a  bold  one,  but  it  succeeded.  An  ounce  of 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     247 

fact  is  worth  a  pound  of  hearsay.  Blantyre 
was  so  transparently  honest,  so  obviously  in- 
capable of  any  of  the  things  imputed  to  him 
by  the  Luther  Leaguers,  that  the  most  preju- 
diced folk  at  St.  Luke's  said  no  more  than  that 
it  was  a  pity  such  a  decent  fellow,  who  could 
preach  such  a  good  sermon,  wasted  so  much 
of  his  time  over  unnecessary  fads ! 

For  some  reason  or  other, — she  could  not 
quite  explain  it  to  herself, — Lucy  looked  on 
Carr  with  different  eyes  from  those  with 
which  she  viewed  Stephens  or  King.  He 
seemed  less  set  apart  from  the  ordinary  lot 
of  men  than  they  were.  His  ordinary  clerical 
costume  may  have  had  something  to  do  with 
it,  the  contrast  between  his  clothes  and  those 
of  the  laymen  not  being  so  marked  as  in  the 
case  of  the  High  Church  clergy.  And  his  man- 
ner also  was  different  in  a  subtle  way.  Lucy 
liked  the  manner  of  King  and  she  liked  the 
manner  of  Carr,  but  they  were  markedly  un- 
like each  other.  The  former  spoke  of  every- 
thing from  the  Church's  point  of  view,  the 
latter  more  from  the  point  of  view  of  an  ordi- 
nary layman  who  loves  and  serves  our  Lord. 

Lucy  had  no  fault  to  find  with  the  ecclesi- 
astical attitude.  She  had  long  before  realised 
what  were  the  spiritual  results  of  rebellion  and 


248  A  Lost  Cause 

schism;  they  were  too  patent  in  Hornham. 
She  was  definitely  Catholic.  Therefore  she 
approved  of  King  as  a  priest  and  liked  him  as 
a  man.  But  Carr  seemed  to  be  more  upon 
her  own  level,  not  set  apart  in  any  way.  She 
knew  he  was  just  as  much  a  priest  as  the 
other,  but  he  came  into  her  consciousness 
from  a  purely  human  standpoint,  while  the 
other  did  not. 

Viewing  him  thus,  she  had  come  to  find  she 
liked  him  very  much  indeed.  He  was  a  very 
"manly"  man,  she  found,  with  a  virile  intel- 
lect which  had  had  too  little  play  of  late  years. 
She  came  to  know  of  his  life  and  found  it 
as  full  of  good  works  as  her  brother's.  The 
methods  differed,  the  Church  and  its  serv- 
ices took  an  altogether  secondary  place  in 
these  ministrations;  the  charities  of  a  poor 
man  were  necessarily  more  circumscribed  than 
those  of  his  rich  neighbour,  but  the  spiritual 
fervour  was  as  great. 

Lucy  could  not  help  wondering  why  a  man 
who  had  such  abundant  means  to  his  hand 
of  holding  and  influencing  his  people  used  so 
few  of  them.  Why  was  his  church  not  beau- 
tiful? How  did  he  exist  spiritually  without 
the  sacramental  grace  so  abundantly  vouch- 
safed at  St.  Elwyn's? 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     249 

She  had  a  glimpse  deep  down  into  the  man 
once.  One  evening  at  St.  Elwyn's,  when  Carr 
had  come  to  supper,  the  conversation  turned 
upon  a  rather  serious  epidemic  of  typhoid 
fever  that  had  only  just  been  overcome  in 
Hornham  and  which  had  caused  a  wide- 
spread distress  among  the  poorer  classes. 

"I'm  getting  up  a  fund,"  Father  Blantyre 
said,  "to  relieve  some  of  the  worst  cases  and 
to  send  as  many  as  possible  of  the  conva- 
lescents off  to  the  seaside.  Now,  Lucy,  my 
dear,  what  will  you  stump  up?  This  girl's 
rolling  in  money,  Carr!  She's  more  than  she 
knows  what  to  do  with!" 

Lucy  noticed — no  one  else  did — that  Mr. 
Carr  flushed  a  little  and  started  as  Blantyre 
finished  speaking. 

She  turned  to  her  brother.  "I'll  give  you 
a  hundred  pounds,  dear,"  she  said. 

"Good  girl!"  he  shouted  in  high  good 
humour. 

Lucy  turned  to  Carr.  "I  suppose  you've 
a  great  many  destitute  cases  in  St.  Luke's?" 
she  asked. 

"Very  many,  I'm  sorry  to  say,"  he  an- 
swered sadly.  "I've  done  what  I  could,  but 
I've  hardly  any  money  myself  until  next 
quarter-day,  and  our  people  are  nearly  all  of 


250  A  Lost  Cause 

them  poor."  He  thought  with  gentle  envy 
of  these  wealthy  folk  who  were  able  to  do  so 
much,  while  he,  alas!  could  do  so  little. 

"I'll  subscribe  something  to  St.  Luke's, 
too,"  Lucy  said.  "I'll  give  you  the  same, 
Mr.  Carr.  I'll  write  you  a  cheque  after 
supper." 

"That's  a  sportswoman!"  said  Father 
Blantyre;  "good  for  you,  Lucy!" 

Carr  flushed  up.  The  destitution  in  his 
parish  had  been  a  constant  grief  to  him  dur- 
ing the  last  few  weeks.  He  had  not  known 
where  to  turn  to  relieve  it.  He  had  prayed 
constantly  that  help  might  be  forthcoming. 
He  broke  out  into  a  nervous  torrent  of  thanks 
which  came  from  his  very  heart,  becoming 
eloquent  as  he  went  on  and  revealing,  un- 
consciously enough,  much  of  his  inward  self 
to  them.  They  were  all  touched  and  charmed 
by  the  man's  simplicity  and  earnestness.  He 
showed  a  great  love  for  the  poor  as  he  talked. 
Sympathy  for  suffering  and  kindness  towards 
it  are  not  rare  things  in  England.  We  are  a 
charitable  folk,  take  us  in  the  mass.  But 
this  quality  of  personal  love  for  the  outcast 
and  down-trodden  is  not  so  often  met  with. 
It  is  a  talent,  and  Carr  possessed  it  in  a  high 
degree. 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     251 

A  step  in  their  intimacy  was  marked  that 
night ;  all  felt  drawn  more  closely  to  the  Evan- 
gelical vicar.  He  stood  alone ;  his  life  seemed 
cheerless  to  them  all  and  their  sympathy  was 
his — though  he  had  never  made  the  least 
parade  of  his  troubles.  Moreover,  the  three 
clergy  of  St.  Elwyn's  were  beginning  to  find 
out,  with  pleased  surprise,  how  near  he  was 
to  them  in  the  great  essentials,  how  Catholic 
his  views  were.  Already  much  of  Carr's  dis- 
like to  the  ceremonial  of  St.  Elwyn's  was  fad- 
ing away.  He  had  witnessed  it,  found  that 
there  was  absolutely  no  harm  in  it,  that  it 
did  not  stand  between  the  soul  and  God, 
but  even  sometimes  assisted  in  the  journey 
upwards.  He  did  not  endorse  it  as  yet,  he 
did  not  contemplate  anything  of  the  sort  for 
himself  or  his  people,  but  he  saw  the  good 
there  and  found  nothing  to  disgust  or  harm. 

Later  on  that  evening,  Dr.  Hibbert  came 
in,  and  there  was  music.  Lucy  played  and 
sang  to  them,  and  Carr,  who  had  a  fine  bari- 
tone, sang  an  old  favourite  or  two,  college 
songs,  Gaudeamus  Igitur,  John  Peel,  and  the 
like. 

Then,  while  the  four  other  men  took  a  hand 
at  whist — if  only  Mr.  Hamlyn  could  have  seen 
the  "devil's  picture  books"  upon  the  table! 


252  A  Lost  Cause 

— Carr  had  a  long,  quiet  talk  with  Lucy  Blan- 
tyre.  He  found  himself  telling  her  much  of 
his  work  and  hopes,  of  his  early  life  in  a  bleak 
Northumberland  vicarage,  of  Cambridge,  and 
the  joyous  days  when  he  rowed  three  in  the 
King's  boat  and  all  the  skies  were  fair. 

Now  and  then,  when  he  would  have  with- 
drawn into  himself  again,  fearing  that  he  was 
boring  her,  she  encouraged  him  to  go  on.  With 
her  cheque  in  his  pocket,  he  went  home  in 
a  glow  that  night.  He  thought  constantly  of 
her,  and  when  he  went  to  bed,  he  looked 
curiously  in  the  mirror,  turning  away  from  it 
with  a  sigh,  a  shake  of  the  head,  and  the 
chilling  memory  that  the  girl  was  rich,  allied 
to  great  families,  a  personage  in  London  so- 
ciety, and  that  a  poor  gentleman  toiling  in 
Hornham  could  never  be  a  mate  for  such  as 
she  was. 

Three  or  four  days  after  the  incident  of  the 
subscription,  Lucy  received  a  letter  from 
Agatha  Poyntz,  who  was  staying  with  the  St. 
Justs  in  Berkeley  Square.  The  letter  begged 
Lucy  to  "come  up  to  town"  for  an  afternoon. 
A  theatre  party  had  been  formed,  which  was 
to  consist  of  Agatha  herself,  Lady  Lelant,  a 
young  married  cousin  of  hers,  and  James 
Poyntz.  Lucy  was  begged  to  come  and 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     253 

complete  the  party.  They  were  to  go  to  tea 
afterwards  at  the  Savoy  or  somewhere,  and 
Lucy  could  drive  home  in  the  evening.  The 
letter  was  quite  imperative  in  its  demand  for 
Lucy's  presence,  and  the  girl  had  a  shrewd 
suspicion  who  it  was  that  had  inspired  it. 
Her  last  few  letters  from  Poyntz  had  been 
almost,  so  she  fancied,  leading  up  to  just 
some  such  occasion  as  this  which  was  now 
proposed. 

She  thought  it  all  over  during  the  morning 
of  that  day.  Her  mind  wavered.  A  few 
weeks  ago  she  knew  that  she  would  not  have 
hesitated  for  a  moment.  Whatever  her  an- 
swer might  eventually  be  to  what  James 
Poyntz  had  to  say,  she  would  have  gone  to 
the  tryst  and  listened  to  him.  To  hear  him 
pleading,  to  see  this  scion  of  an  ancient 
and  honourable  house,  this  big-brained  man, 
pleading  for  her,  would  be  sweet.  Every 
woman  would  feel  that.  But  now  she  hesi- 
tated very  much.  She  hardly  owned  it  to 
herself,  but  a  very  different  figure  was  coming 
to  have  a  continual  place  in  her  thoughts.  A 
graver  figure,  a  less  complex  figure,  and  one 
invested  with  a  dignity  that  was  not  of  this 
world,  a  dignity  that  the  peer's  son  had 
not. 


254  A  Lost  Cause 

For  now,  most  indubitably,  a  new  element 
was  coming  into  her  life,  one  that  had  not 
been  there  before. 

And  there  was  yet  another  cause  for  her 
hesitation.  She  had  come  to  see  that  the 
supremely  important  thing  in  life  was  reli- 
gion ;  she  knew  that  it  was  going  to  be  so  for 
her.  She  wasn't  bigoted,  she  realised  the 
blameless  life  that  many  people  who  did  not 
believe  in  our  Lord  appeared  to  live.  But 
that  was  not  the  point.  Works  were  good, 
they  were  a  necessary  concomitant  of  any 
life  that  was  to  be  bound  up  with  hers. 
But  faith  was  a  paramount  necessity  also. 
She  had  no  illusions  about  James  Poyntz. 
She  did  not  think,  as  less  keen-sighted  girls 
have  thought  of  atheist  lovers,  that  she  could 
ever  bring  him  to  the  Faith.  She  knew  quite 
well  that  it  would  be  impossible,  that  he  was 
one  of  those  folk  to  whom  the  "talent"  of 
faith  does  not  seem  to  have  been  given,  and 
who  will  have  to  begin  all  over  again  in  the 
next  world,  learning  the  truths  of  Christianity 
like  children. 

While  she  was  thinking  out  the  question  of 
acceptance  or  refusal,  her  eye  caught  a  date 
on  her  tablets.  It  was  the  date  of  the  theatre 
party  and  also  of  a  meeting  to  be  held  during 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     255 

the  afternoon  in  the  public  hall  at  Hornham, 
at  which  Father  Blantyre  had  consented  to 
hold  public  argument  upon  the  legalities  of 
ritual  and  the  truth  of  Catholic  dogma  with 
some  of  the  Luther  Lecturers. 

Hamlyn  had  intended  that  this  meeting 
should  take  place  in  the  evening,  for  two 
reasons.  In  the  first  place,  during  the  after- 
noon he  was  himself  to  address  a  great  meet- 
ing in  London,  to  which  all  the  "red-hot 
Protestants"  on  the  lists  of  the  League  had 
been  specially  invited  by  ticket,  and  at  which 
a  great  sensation  was  hinted  at,  in  much  the 
same  way  as  music-hall  managers  announce 
the  forthcoming  appearance  of  some  entirely 
new  spectacle,  trick,  or  performer. 

Mr.  Hamlyn  had  hoped  to  arrive  in  Horn- 
ham  from  the  Strand  flushed  with  a  great 
victory,  the  news  of  which  would  have  pre- 
ceded him  during  the  afternoon. 

Moreover,  in  the  evening  an  audience  would 
assemble  with  which  the  Luther  Lecturers 
would  be  thoroughly  at  home — Mr.  Sam 
Hamlyn  would  have  seen  to  that — and  the 
place  would  be  packed  by  rowdy  non -church- 
goers who  would  come  with  the  intention 
of  witnessing  a  row,  even  if  they  themselves 
had  to  create  it.  Thus  a  "great  Protestant 


256  A  Lost  Cause 

demonstration  of  North  London"  would  be 
absolutely  assured. 

Unfortunately,  Mr.  Hamlyn  received  the 
plainest  of  plain  hints  from  the  local  chief  of 
police  that  he  would  get  himself  into  particu- 
larly hot  water  if  he  proceeded  with  his  little 
scheme,  and  that  the  words  of  one  of  his  men 
— the  ingenuous  Mr.  Moffatt  indeed,  who, 
locked  out  of  every  church  in  England,  had 
lately  returned  to  his  parental  roof  for  a 
holiday — to  a  certain  rough  section  of  the 
community,  in  connection  with  this  very 
meeting,  would  be  brought  up  against  him. 

The  police  had  no  objection  to  a  meeting 
during  the  afternoon.  The  dangerous  ele- 
ment would  still  be  pushing  their  barrows  of 
plums  and  pears  through  the  city  streets,  and 
though  the  meeting  would,  no  doubt,  be  skil- 
fully packed  with  partisans,  many  women 
would  be  present  and  nothing  more  than  a 
wordy  war  would  be  likely  to  result. 

Lucy  saw  the  date  and  considered  that  the 
question  of  the  matine'e  was  decided  for  her. 
She  mentioned  the  invitation  at  lunch,  and 
was  very  much  surprised  to  find  that  her 
brother  strongly  deprecated  her  intention  of 
being  present  at  the  discussion  and  welcomed 
this  invitation. 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     257 

"I  don't  want  you  to  go,  dear,"  he  said; 
"I  beg  of  you  not.  It  will  be  rough  and 
bitter.  I  know  it.  I  shrink  from  it  myself, 
but  I  must  show  them  that  we  are  not  afraid 
to  meet  them  openly.  But  it  would  do 
nothing  but  distress  you.  Write  to  Miss 
Poyntz  this  afternoon  and  say  you'll  go. 
Then  you  can  hear  all  about  the  meeting  in 
the  evening  when  you  get  back."  He  was 
so  obviously  in  earnest  that  Lucy  could  not 
but  agree. 

It  seemed  fate  sent  her  to  meet  James. 
Well,  it  must  be,  that  was  all.  Circumstances 
must  be  faced,  and  if  she  did  not  know  her 
own  mind  now,  it  was  possible  that  the  event 
itself  would  decide  it  for  her. 

But  she  addressed  the  letter  with  marked 
nervous  excitement,  and  the  "Hon.  Agatha 
Poyntz"  was  more  tremulous  than  her  writ- 
ing was  wont  to  be. 

There  were  two  days  more  to  wait,  a  Sun- 
day intervened,  and  she  hardly  left  the 
church  during  the  whole  day,  seeking  counsel 
and  help  where  only  they  are  to  be  found. 

On  Monday,  she  arrived  at  the  theatre  at 
about  two.  She  had  refused  to  lunch  with  her 
friends  and  drove  from  Hornham  in  a  hansom 
cab,  meeting  them  at  the  door  of  the  building. 


258  A  Lost  Cause 

They  went  at  once  to  their  box  and  found 
that  there  were  some  five  minutes  to  wait 
before  the  rise  of  the  curtain. 

The  theatre  was  curious  after  the  glare  of 
the  sun  outside,  fantastic  and  unreal.  Hardly 
anybody  talked,  though  there  was  a  good 
house,  and  the  strange  quiet  of  a  matinee 
audience  seemed  to  pervade  the  four  people 
in  the  box  also. 

Lucy  leaned  back  in  her  chair  with  the 
sensation  of  dreaming.  This  morning  she 
had  knelt  in  the  side  chapel  at  St.  Elwyn's! 
A  moment  before  she  had  been  alone  in 
the  cab,  among  the  roar  and  bustle  of  Tra- 
falgar Square.  Now  she  was  in  a  dream. 
Agatha  and  Adelaide  Lelant  smiled  at  her 
without  speaking — just  like  odd  dream  people. 
James  Poyntz  sat  just  behind  her.  She  was 
acutely  conscious  of  his  presence.  Now  and 
then  he  bent  forward  and  made  some  remark 
or  other  in  a  low  voice.  That  also  seemed  to 
come  from  a  distance.  She  seemed  to  have 
left  all  the  real  things  behind  in  Hornham. 

The  scents,  the  dresses  of  the  fashionable 
people  in  the  stalls,  the  dim,  apricot  light, 
seemed  alien  to  her  life  now,  a  reminder  of 
experiences  and  days  long  since  put  away 
and  forgotten. 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     259 

The  little  band  below  had  been  playing  a 
waltz  of  Weber's,  a  regret  which  was  strangled 
into  a  sob  as  the  curtain  rose  suddenly  upon 
the  first  act  of  the  play. 

How  acutely  conscious  one  was  at  first 
of  the  artificial  light!  The  big  frame  of  the 
proscenium  enclosed  a  rich  garden  scene, 
beautifully  painted.  But  it  was  full  of  hot 
yellow  light,  until  the  eye  forgot  the  outside 
day  it  had  lately  quitted.  Lucy  thought  that 
for  the  sake  of  illusion  it  was  a  mistake  to 
come  to  the  play  in  the  afternoon.  She  said 
so  to  James. 

"Well,"  he  whispered,  "for  my  part,  there 
is  never  any  illusion  in  the  stage  for  me.  It 
is  a  way  of  passing  an  idle  hour  now  and  then. 
That  is  all.  I  came  here  not  to  see  the  play, 
but  to  see  you." 

She  turned  towards  the  stage  again  with  a 
slight  flush.  , 

Behind  the  footlights  the  perfectly  dressed 
men  and  women  went  through  their  parts. 
All  appeared  as  if  they  had  put  on  for  the 
first  time  the  clothes  they  wore;  both  men 
and  women  had  the  complexion  of  young 
children — peaches  and  cream — unless  the  light 
fell  on  the  face  at  an  awkward  angle.  Then  it 
glistened. 


260  A  Lost  Cause 

And  all  the  people  on  the  stage  talked 
alike,  too.  They  did  not  speak  quite  like 
ladies  or  gentlemen,  but  imitated  the  speech 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen  wonderfully!  The 
play  did  not  interest  Lucy.  It  was  a  successful 
play,  it  was  played  by  people  who  were  cele- 
brated actors,  but  she  was  out  of  tune  with 
the  whole  thing.  It  was  n't  amusing.  Be- 
tween the  acts,  Lady  Lelant  chatted  merrily, 
of  such  news  as  there  was  to  be  gleaned  during 
a  passage  through  town.  She  spoke  of  the 
movements  of  this  or  that  acquaintance,  whom 
this  girl  was  engaged  to,  why  Lord  Dawlish 
had  quarrelled  with  the  Duke  of  Dover.  Lucy 
had  no  interest  in  these  matters  any  more. 
She  realised  that  with  astonished  certainty. 
She  did  n't  care  a  bit.  After  all,  these  smart 
people  and  their  cloings  were  not,  as  she 
had  thought  in  the  past,  any  more  interesting 
than  the  group  of  church  people  at  St.  El- 
wyn's.  Indeed  they  were  less  so.  Dr.  Hib- 
bert,  one  or  two  of  the  nursing  sisters,  some 
of  the  choir  men,  King,  Stephens,  Carr — all 
these  people  had  more  individuality,  lived, 
thought,  felt,  prayed  more  intensely  than  Lady 
Lelant's  set,  Lady  Linquest's  set,  any  purely 
fashionable  set.  There  was  not  a  doubt  that 
in  the  mere  worldly  economy  of  things,  in  the 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     261 

state  politic,  every  one  of  these  Hornham 
people  mattered  more  than  those  others.  And, 
where  hearts  and  wills  are  weighed,  to  the 
critical  Unseen  eyes,  their  value  was  greater 
still.  Lucy  was  glad  when  the  play  began 
again,  and  she  was  relieved  of  the  necessity 
for  a  simulated  interest  in  things  she  had 
long  since  put  away  from  her. 

The  last  act  of  the  mimic  story  dragged  on. 
Agatha  and  Lady  Lelant  were  absorbed  in  it. 
Lucy  withdrew  a  little  from  the  front  of  the 
box.  She  cared  nothing  for  the  play,  nor  did 
her  companion.  Both  of  them  knew  of  things 
imminent  in  their  twin  lives  greater  than  any 
mimic  business  could  suggest  to  them. 

He  began  to  tell  her  in  a  low  voice  of  his 
joy  in  seeing  her  again.  It  thrilled  her  to 
hear  the  lover-like  tones  creeping  into  a  voice 
so  clear,  cold,  and  self-contained  in  all  the 
ordinary  affairs  of  life.  It  was  an  experience 
that  disturbed  and  swayed  all  the  instincts 
of  her  sex.  For  she  knew  that  this  was  no 
ordinary  conquest  that  she  had  made,  no 
ordinary  tribute  to  her  mind  and  person.  She 
might  have  received  the  highest  compliment 
that  he  was  about  to  pay  her  from  many  a 
man  as  highly  placed  and  socially  fortunate 
as  he.  There  was  no  exhilaration,  no  subtle 


262  A  Lost  Cause 

flattery  of  her  pride  and  the  consciousness  of 
her  womanhood  in  that.  But  she  knew  him 
for  what  he  was.  She  had  learned  of  the  in- 
tellect and  power  of  the  man — herein  lay  an 
exquisite  pleasure  in  his  surrender.  And  she 
liked  him  immensely.  Physically,  he  pleased 
her  eye,  and  her  sense  of  what  was  fitting  in  a 
man.  Mentally  he  compelled  her.  And  now 
and  again  in  their  intimacy,  an  intimacy  that 
had  grown  enormously  during  the  last  year, 
fostered  on  their  mutual  epistolary  confi- 
dences, she  had  found  a  sudden  surrender,  a 
boyish  leaning  on  her,  a  waiting  for  her  ap- 
proving or  helpful  word,  that  was  sweet  to 
her. 

At  last  the  curtain  fell. 

"Now,  then,"  Poyntz  said,  "we'll  go  and 
have  tea  on  the  terrace  at  the  Sardinia. 
There  will  be  a  band,  a  really  good  band,  and 
the  embankment  will  look  beautiful  just  now. 
Come  along,  young  ladies;  we'll  walk,  shall 
we?  It  won't  take  us  five  minutes."  They 
left  the  theatre. 

"Ah!"  Lucy  said  with  a  sudden  gasp  of 
relief,  "how  good  the  air  is  after  that  dark 
place  and  the  stage.  My  eyes  feel  as  if  they 
had  been  actually  burnt." 

The  long  lights  of  the  summer  afternoon 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     263 

irradiated  everything.  There  are  moments  in 
summer  when  the  busiest  London  street  seems 
like  a  street  in  fairy-land.  It  was  so  now  as 
they  walked  to  the  great  riverside  hotel;  a 
tender  haze  of  gold  lay  over  all  the  vast 
buildings,  the  sky  began  to  be  as  if  it  were 
hung  with  banners. 

They  passed  from  the  roar  of  the  street  to 
the  great  courtyard,  with  its  gay  awnings  of 
white  and  red,  its  palms  and  tree-ferns  in 
green  tubs,  its  little  tables  like  the  tables  of 
a  continental  cafe.  Little  groups  of  people  of 
all  nationalities  sat  about  there.  The  party 
heard  the  twanging  accent  of  the  United 
States,  the  guttural  German,  the  purring, 
spitting  Russian. 

They  entered  the  hotel,  walked  down  a  cor- 
ridor, descended  some  steps,  and  came  out 
upon  the  terrace. 

Lucy  had  a  finely  developed  social  instinct. 
She  knew  what  was  going  on  instinctively, 
and  it  was  plain  to  her  at  once  that  the  mo- 
ment had  come.  Agatha  Poyntz  and  her 
cousin  had  disappeared  as  she  sat  down  at  a 
small  table  with  James,  hidden  by  shrubs 
from  the  rest  of  the  terrace. 

Below  and  beyond  were  gardens  in  which 
children  were  playing,  the  wide  embankment, 


264  A  Lost  Cause 

and  the  silver  Thames  itself,  all  glowing  under 
the  lengthening  sun  rays. 

What  did  she  feel  at  that  moment?  She 
found  that  she  was  calm,  her  pulses  were 
quiet,  her  breathing  untroubled  and  slow. 

He  leaned  forward  and  took  her  hands 
strongly  in  both  of  his.  At  first,  his  words 
came  haltingly  to  him,  but  then,  gathering 
courage,  he  made  her  a  passionate  de- 
claration. 

Her  heart  cried  out  vaguely  to  some  out- 
side power  for  guidance ;  her  inarticulate  ap- 
peal was  hardly  a  prayer,  it  was  the  supreme 
expression  of  perplexity  and  doubt. 

"For  months,  all  my  work  and  life  have 
been  coloured  by  thoughts  of  you,  have  had 
reference  to  you.  I  can  conceive,  since  I 
have  been  writing  to  you,  and  you  to  me,  I 
have  had  hopes  and  dreams  that  have  become 
part  of  my  life!  If  you  could  accept  this, 
this  devotion,  this  strong  feeling  of  love 
which  has  grown  up  in  me,  I  feel  that  our 
companionship  would  be  a  beautiful  thing. 
Lucy,  I  am  not  eloquent  in  love  as  some  men 
are  said  to  be,  I  can  only  tell  you  that  I  love 
and  admire  you  dearly  and  have  no  greater 
hope  than  to  share  everything  with  you,  my 
lady,  my  love!" 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     265 

The  strong,  self-contained  young  man  was 
deeply  moved.  He  continued,  in  a  mono- 
logue of  singular  delicacy  and  high  feeling,  to 
pour  out  the  repressed  feelings  of  the  past 
year,  to  offer  her  a  life  that  was  more  stain- 
less— she  knew  it  well — than  that  of  most 
young  men. 

She  was  deeply  touched,  interested,  and 
rather  overawed.  But  there  was  no  thrill  of 
passion  in  her  that  could  answer  to  the  notes 
of  it  that  were  coming  into  his  voice  and 
shaking  it  from  its  firmness,  sending  tremu- 
lous waves  quivering  through  it. 

Her  hand  shook  in  his  hold,  but  it  was  pas- 
sive. Emotion  rushed  over  her,  but  it  was  a 
cool  emotion,  so  to  say;  she  was  touched, 
but  her  blood  did  not  race  and  leap  at  his 
touch,  she  felt  no  wish  to  rest  in  his  arms,  to 
find  her  home  there! 

At  last  she  was  able  to  speak.  There  was 
a  pause  in  his  pleading,  his  eyes  remained 
fixed  upon  her  face  in  anxious  scrutiny. 

She  withdrew  her  hand  gently. 

"You  have  touched  me  very  deeply,"  she 
said.  "But  I  can't,  oh,  I  can't  answer  you 
now.  This  is  such  a  great  thing.  There  is 
so  much  to  think  over,  so  much  self-examina- 
tion. It  might  all  look  quite  different  to  one 


266  A  Lost  Cause 

to-morrow!  Let  me  wait,  give  me  time.  I 
will  write  to  you." 

His  ear  found  the  lack  of  what  he  sought 
in  her  voice.  Even  to  herself  her  tones 
sounded  cold  and  conventional  after  his  im- 
passioned pleading.  But  she  found  herself 
mistress  neither  of  reason  nor  of  feeling  as 
she  spoke.  She  was  bewildered,  though  not 
taken  by  surprise. 

He  seemed  to  understand  something  of  her 
state  of  mind.  If  his  disappointment  was 
keen,  he  showed  nothing  of  it,  realising  with 
the  pertinacity  of  a  strong,  vigorous  nature 
that  nothing  really  worth  having  was  won 
easily,  thankful,  perhaps,  that  he  had  won  as 
much  as  he  had — her  consideration. 

"You  know  how  great  a  thing  this  is  to 
me,"  he  said.  "You  would  never  be  unkind 
or  hard  to  me  and  it  would  be  an  unkindness 
to  prolong  my  suspense.  When  will  you  give 
me  my  answer?" 

"Oh,  soon,  soon!  But  I  must  have  time. 
I  will  write  to  you  soon,  in  a  fortnight  I  will 
write." 

"That  is  so  long  a  time!" 

"It  will  pass  very  swiftly." 

"Then  I  accept  your  decree.  But  I  shall 
write  to  you,  even  if  you  don't  answer  me 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     267 

until  I  get  the  letter,  oh,  happy  day!  on 
which  you  tell  me  what  my  whole  heart 
longs  to  hear.  You  will  read  my  letters  dur- 
ing the  time  of  waiting?  Promise  me  that, 
Lucy." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  promise,"  she  said  hastily, 
seeing  that  Agatha  and  Adelaide  Lelant  were 
coming  towards  them. 

Her  brain  was  whirling;  James  himself  was 
agitated  and  unstrung  by  the  vehemence  of 
feeling,  the  nerve  storm,  that  he  had  just 
passed  through.  And  in  the  minds  of  Miss 
Poyntz  and  Lady  Lelant  the  liveliest  curiosity 
and  interest  reigned,  as  it  naturally  would 
reign,  under  such  circumstances,  in  the  minds 
of  any  normal  young  women,  gentle  or  simple, 
with  blue  blood  or  crimson. 

But  the  four  people  had  learned  the  lessons 
their  life-long  environment  had  taught.  Their 
faces  were  masks,  their  talk  was  trivial. 

When  at  length  Lucy  rose  to  go,  declining 
to  drive  home  with  Lady  Lelant,  they  all 
came  into  the  big,  quiet  courtyard  of  the 
hotel,  "to  help  her  choose  her  hansom." 
Every  unit  of  the  little  party  felt  her  depart- 
ure would  be  a  relief,  she  felt  it  herself.  The 
two  girls  did  not  know  what  had  happened 
and  were  eager  to  know.  James  wanted  to  be 


268  A  Lost  Cause 

alone,  to  go  through  the  interview  step  by 
step  in  his  brain,  reconstructing  it  for  the 
better  surveyal  of  his  chances,  and  to  plan 
an  epistolary  campaign,  or  bombardment 
rather. 

Lucy  felt  the  desire,  a  great  and  pressing 
desire,  for  home  and  rest.  She  arrived  at  the 
vicarage  an  hour  or  so  after.  As  the  cab  had 
turned  into  the  familiar,  sordid  streets  she 
had  felt  glad!  She  smiled  at  her  own  sensa- 
tions, but  they  were  very  real.  This  place, 
this  "unutterable  North  London  slum,"  as 
she  used  to  call  it,  was  more  like  home  than 
Park  Lane  had  ever  been. 

How  tired  she  felt  as  she  went  up-stairs  to 
her  room!  Her  face  was  pale,  dark  circles 
had  come  out  under  her  eyes,  she  bore  every 
evidence  of  having  passed  through  some 
mental  strain. 

After  a  bath  she  felt  better,  more  herself, 
after  these  experiences  of  the  afternoon.  And 
to  change  every  article  of  clothing  was  in 
itself  a  restorative  and  a  tonic.  It  was  an 
old  trick  of  hers,  and  she  had  always  found 
it  answer.  When  she  went  down-stairs  again 
she  was  still  pale,  but  had  that  freshness 
and  dainty  completeness  that  have  such  enorm- 
ous charm,  that  she  always  had,  and  that  her 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     269 

poorer  sisters  are  so  unable  to  achieve  in  the 
va  et  vient  of  a  hard,  work-a-day  life. 

She  wanted  to  see  Bernard,  she  hungered 
for  her  brother.  With  a  pang  of  self-reproach, 
she  remembered,  as  she  came  down-stairs,  that 
this  had  been  the  afternoon  of  the  public 
debate  with  Hamlyn's  people.  It  was  an  im- 
portant event  in  the  parish.  And  from  her 
start  from  the  clergy-house  to  her  arrival 
back  at  its  doors,  she  had  quite  forgotten  the 
whole  thing!  In  the  absorption  with  her  own 
affairs,  it  had  passed  completely  from  her 
brain  and  she  was  sorry.  Of  late,  she  had 
identified  herself  so  greatly  with  the  affairs 
and  hopes  of  the  little  St.  Elwyn's  commu- 
nity, that  she  felt  selfish  and  ashamed  as  she 
knocked  at  the  door  of  the  study.  She 
waited  for  a  moment  to  hear  the  invitation 
to  enter.  It  was  never  safe  to  go  into  Ber- 
nard's room  without  that  precaution.  Some 
tragic  history  might  be  in  the  very  article  of 
relation,  some  weary  soul  might  be  there  seek- 
ing ghostly  guidance  in  its  abyss  of  sorrow 
and  despair. 

Some  one  bade  her  enter.  She  did  so. 
The  room  was  dark,  filled  with  the  evening 
shadows.  For  a  moment  or  two,  she  could 
distinguish  nothing. 


270  A  Lost  Cause 

"Are  you  here,  Ber?"  she  said. 

"The  vicar  is  upstairs,  Miss  Blantyre," 
came  the  answer  in  King's  voice,  as  he  rose 
from  his  seat.  "  I  'm  here  with  Stephens." 

"Well,  let  me  sit  down  for  a  little  while 
and  talk,"  Lucy  said.  "May  I? — please  go 
on  smoking.  I  can  stand  Bob's  pipe,  so  I 
can  certainly  stand  yours.  I  want  to  hear  all 
about  the  meeting  in  the  Victoria  Hall." 

They  found  a  chair  for  her;  she  refused  to 
have  lights  brought,  saying  that  she  preferred 
this  soft  gloom  that  enveloped  them. 

Her  question  about  the  meeting  was  not 
immediately  responded  to.  The  men  seemed 
collecting  their  thoughts.  By  this  time,  she 
was  really  upon  something  that  resembled  a 
true  sisterly  footing  with  these  two.  Both 
were  well-bred  men,  incapable  of  any  slacken- 
ing of  the  cords  of  courtesy,  but  there  was  a 
mutual  understanding  between  them  and  her 
which  allowed  deliberation  in  talk,  which,  in 
fact,  dispensed  with  the  necessity  of  conven- 
tional chatter. 

King  spoke  at  length.  "Go  on,  young 
'un,"  he  said  to  Stephens,  waving  his  pipe  at 
him,  as  Lucy  could  see  by  the  red  glow  in  the 
bowl.  "You  tell  her." 

"No,  you  tell  her,  old  chap." 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     271 

Lucy  wanted  to  laugh  at  the  odd  pair  with 
whom  she  was  in  such  sympathy.  They  were 
just  like  two  boys. 

King  sighed.  Conversation  of  any  sort, 
unless  it  was  actually  in  the  course  of  his 
priestly  ministrations,  was  always  painful  to 
him.  He  was  a  man  who  thought.  But  he 
could  be  eloquent  and  incisive  enough  when 
he  chose. 

"Well,  look  here,  Miss  Blantyre,"  he  said, 
"to  begin  with,  the  whole  thing  has  been  an 
unqualified  success  for  the  other  side!  That 
is  to  say  that  the  people  in  the  hall — and  it 
was  crammed — have  gone  away  in  the  firm  con- 
viction and  belief  that  the  Luther  Lecturers 
have  got  the  best  of  the  priests,  that,  in  short, 
the  Protestants  have  won  all  along  the  line." 

"Good  gracious!  Mr.  King,  do  you  really 
mean  to  say  that  one  of  these  vulgar,  half- 
educated  men  was  able  to  beat  Bernard  in 
argument,  to  enlist  the  sympathies  of  the 
audience  against  Bernard  ?" 

"That's  exactly  what  has  happened,"  King 
answered.  "The  vicar  is  upstairs  now,  ut- 
terly dejected  and  worn  out,  trying  to  get 
some  sleep." 

"But  I  don't  understand  how  it  could  be 
so." 


272  A  Lost  Cause 

"It  is  difficult  to  understand  for  a  mo- 
ment, Miss  Blantyre.  But  it's  easily  ex- 
plained. One  good  thing  has  happened: 
Every  priest  in  the  kingdom  will  have  his 
warning  now ' ' 

"Of  what?'" 

"Never  to  engage  in  public  controversy 
with  any  man  of  the  type  sent  out  to  adver- 
tise the  Luther  League.  I  '11  try  and  explain. 
You'll  know  what  I  mean.  The  controversy 
upon  any  sacred  and  religious  subjects,  sub- 
jects that  are  very  dear  to  and  deeply  felt  by 
their  defender,  is  only  possible  if  their  attacker 
pursues  legitimate  methods.  What  happened 
to  day  is  this : 

"The  audience  was  mostly  Protestant,  with 
a  strong  sprinkling  of  people  who  cared 
nothing  one  way  or  the  other,  but  had  come 
to  be  amused,  or  in  the  expectation  of  a  row. 
And  even  if  the  meeting  wasn't  'packed,' — • 
and  I  Ve  my  doubts  of  that, — you  see  Catho- 
lics don't  like  to  come  much  to  anything  of  the 
sort.  It  is  so  terribly  painful  to  a  man  or 
woman  whose  whole  life  is  bound  up  in  the  Sac- 
raments, who  draws  his  or  her  '  grace  of  going 
on '  and  hope  of  heaven  from  them,  to  sit  and 
hear  them  mocked  and  derided  by  the  coarse, 
the  vulgar,  the  irreligious.  It 's  an  ordeal  one 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     273 

can  hardly  expect  any  one  to  go  through 
without  a  burning  indignation  and  a  holy 
wrath,  which  may,  in  its  turn,  give  place  to 
action  and  words  that  our  Lord  has  expressly 
forbidden.  One  remembers  Peter,  who  cut 
off  the  ear  of  the  High  Priest's  servant,  and 
how  he  was  rebuked.  That 's  why  there  were 
not  many  Catholics  present,  and  besides,  the 
chief  had  asked  many  of  the  congregation  to 
stay  away.  He  wouldn't  let  Dr.  Hibbert 
go;  he  knew  that  he'd  lose  his  temper  and 
that  there  would  be  a  row." 

Lucy  listened  eagerly.  "And  what  did 
happen?"  she  cried. 

"Tell  Miss  Blantyre,  Stephens,"  King  an- 
swered. ' '  I  'm  not  lazy,  but  Stephens  has  got 
colour  in  his  descriptions!  It's  like  his  ser- 
mons, all  poetry  and  fervour  and  no  sound 
discipline!  And  besides,  he's  got  the  'varsity 
slang  of  the  day.  It's  nasty,  but  it's  ex- 
pressive. When  I  was  up,  we  talked  English 
— go  on,  young  'un." 

His  voice  sank,  his  pipe  glowed  in  the 
gloom.  Stephens  took  up  the  parable.  ' '  Well, 
I  can't  go  into  all  the  details,"  he  said.  "But 
the  first  thing  that  happened  was  that  the 
lecturer  stood  upon  the  platform,  shut  his 
eyes,  and  prayed  that  Hornham  might  be 

18 


274  A  Lost  Cause 

delivered  from  the  curse  of  priesthood  and 
the  blasphemy  of  the  Mass! — this  while  the 
vicar  was  on  the  platform.  The  man  was 
going  to  begin  right  away,  after  this,  when 
Mr.  Carr  stopped  him  and  said  that  he  wished 
to  offer  up  a  prayer  also.  The  fellow  frowned, 
but  he  dare  not  stop  him.  So  Carr  prayed  for 
a  quiet  and  temperate  conduct  of  the  meet- 
ing! Then  the  man  began.  It  was  the  usual 
thing,  mocking  blasphemy  delivered  in  the 
voice  of  a  cheap-jack,  with  a  flavour  of  the 
clown. 

"The  man  had  two  sacramental  wafers  and 
he  kept  producing  them  out  of  a  Bible,  like  a 
conjuring  trick!  They  were  of  different  sizes, 
and  he  said:  'Now,  here  you  see  what  the 
Ritualists  worship,  a  biscuit  god!  And  you  '11 
notice  there's  a  little  one  for  the  people  and 
a  big  one  for  the  priest — priests  always  want 
the  biggest  share!'  Roars  of  laughter  from 
every  one,  of  course.  Then  the  fellow  went 
on  to  speak  of  the  fasting  communion.  '  For 
my  part,'  he  said,  with  a  great  grin,  'I  like 
to  have  my  breakfast  comfortable  in  the  morn- 
ing before  I  go  to  church,  and  I  honestly 
pity  the  poor  priests  who  have  to  starve 
themselves  till  mid-day.  I  should  n't  won- 
der if  the  Reverend  Blantyre ' — with  a  wink 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     275 

towards  the  vicar — 'often  has  visions  of  a 
nice  bit  of  fried  bacon  or  an  'addock,  say, 
about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

Lucy  gasped.  "How  utterly  revolting," 
she  said,  "and  people  really  take  that  sort  of 
thing  seriously?" 

"Oh,  yes,  the  sort  of  people  to  whom  these 
Luther  Leaguers  appeal.  You  see  it's  their 
only  weapon.  They  can't  argue  properly, 
because  they  are  utterly  without  education, 
and  they  only  supplement  the  parrot  lec- 
tures they  've  been  taught  with  their  own  na- 
tive low  comedy.  Our  friend  this  afternoon 
wound  up  his  oration  by  inviting  the  vicar 
to  ask  questions — he  did  n't  want  him  to 
speak  at  length,  of  course.  'Now,'  he  said, 
'  I  call  upon  the  Reverend  Blantyre  to  ask  me 
any  questions  he  chooses.  And  I'll  just  ask 
him  one  myself — if  God  had  meant  him  to 
wear  petticoats,  would  n't  He  have  made  him 
a  woman?'  This  was  rather  too  much,  and 
there  were  some  hisses.  The  vicar  was  in  his 
cassock.  But  the  vicar  laughed  himself,  and 
so  every  one  else  did.  It  seemed  to  restore 
the  good  humour  of  the  meeting,  which  was 
just  what  the  lecturer  did  n't  want. 

"Well,  to  cut  a  long  story  short,  every 
question  the  vicar  put  was  the  question  of  a 


276  A  Lost  Cause 

cultured  man,  that  is  to  say,  it  assumed  some 
knowledge  of  the  point  at  issue.  Each  time 
he  was  answered  with  buffooneries  and  a 
blatant  ignorance  that  gave  the  whole  thing 
away  at  once  to  any  one  that  knew.  But 
there  was  hardly  any  one  there  that  did,  that 
was  the  point.  The  whole  audience  imagined 
that  we  were  being  scored  off  tremendously. 
They  got  noisy,  cheered  every  apish  witticism 
of  the  lecturer — oh!  it  was  a  disgusting  scene. 
I'll  give  you  an  instance  of  what  was  said 
towards  the  end.  The  vicar  was  appealing 
to  the  actual  words  of  the  Gospel  in  one  in- 
stance. 'The  Greek  text  says,'  he  was  begin- 
ning, when  the  man  jumps  up — 'Greek!'  he 
shouted,  'will  Greek  save  a  man's  soul?  Do 
you  suppose  Jesus  of  Nazareth  understood  for- 
eign tongues  ?' 

"There  was  a  tremendous  roar  of  applause 
from  the  people  at  this.  They  thought  the 
lecturer  had  made  a  great  point!  They  actu- 
ally did!  Well,  of  course,  there  was  hardly 
any  answer  to  that.  In  the  face  of  such 
black  depths  of  ignorance,  what  could  any 
one  do?  It  would  be  as  easy  to  explain  the 
theory  of  gravity  to  a  hog  as  to  explain  the 
Faith  to  a  grinning,  hostile  mob  like  that. 
The  vicar  sat  down.  The  clown  always  has 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought      277 

the  last  word  in  argument  before  an  audience 
of  fools  or  children.  It  must  be  so." 

"How  did  it  all  end  up?" 

"Oh,  the  lecturer  got  upon  his  hind  legs 
again  and  made  a  speech  in  which  he  claimed 
to  have  triumphantly  refuted  the  sophistry  of 
the  vicar  and  to  have  shown  what  Ritualism 
really  was.  Then,  encouraged  by  the  general 
applause,  he  was  beginning  to  be  very  per- 
sonal and  rude,  when  there  was  a  startling 
interruption.  Bob  got  up  from  the  back  of 
the  hall — we  didn't  know  he  was  there — 
and  began  to  push  his  way  towards  the  plat- 
form, with  a  loudly  expressed  intention  of 
wringing  the  lecturer's  neck  there  and  then. 
I  got  hold  of  him,  but  he  shook  me  off  like  a 
fly.  'Let  me  be,  sir!'  he  said,'  let  me  get  at 
the  varmin,  I'll  give  him  a  thick  ear,  I  will!' 
Then  King  saw  what  was  going  on  and  rushed 
up.  Bob  remembered  what  King  gave  him 
last  year  and  he  tried  to  dodge.  By  this  time, 
the  whole  place  was  in  an  uproar,  sticks  were 
flying  about,  people  were  struggling,  shout- 
ing, swearing,  and  it  looked  like  being  as 
nasty  a  little  riot  as  one  could  wish  to  see." 

"How  horrible!"  Lucy  said  with  a  shudder. 
"  I  wish  Bernard  had  never  been  near  the 
place." 


278  A  Lost  Cause 

"Well,  then,  all  of  a  sudden,"  the  curate 
continued,  "a  mighty  voice  was  heard  from 
the  platform.  It  was  Carr!  I  never  heard 
a  man  with  such  a  big,  arresting  voice.  He 
was  in  a  white  rage,  his  eyes  flashed,  he 
looked  most  impressive.  He  frightened  every 
one,  he  really  did,  and  in  a  minute  or  two  he 
got  every  one  to  leave  the  hall  quietly  and  in 
order." 

"How  splendid!"  Lucy  said.  She  thought 
that  she  could  see  the  whole  scene,  the  squalid 
struggle,  the  strong  man  dominating  it  all. 
Her  hands  were  clenched  in  sympathy.  Her 
teeth  were  locked. 

"He's  a  big  man,"  the  young  fellow  re- 
plied, "a  bigger  man  than  any  one  knows. 
He'll  be  round  here  this  evening,  I  expect. 
You  must  get  him  to  tell  you  all  about  it, 
Miss  Blantyre." 

A  few  minutes  afterwards  every  one  went  to 
church.  It  was  a  choral  evensong  that  night, 
and  sung  somewhat  later  than  the  usual  serv- 
ice was.  Blantyre  did  not  appear.  Lucy 
would  not  have  him  wakened.  She  knew 
that  sleep  was  the  best  thing  for  over-tired 
nerves,  that  he  would  view  the  futile  occur- 
rences of  the  afternoon  less  unhappily  after 
sleep. 


The  News  that  Carr  Brought     279 

It  was  after  nine  o'clock  when  the  vicar 
eventually  made  his  appearance.  He  was 
worn  and  sad  in  face,  his  smile  had  lost  its 
merriment.  Lucy  had  made  them  all  come 
into  her  room  for  music.  They  wanted  play- 
ing out  of  their  depression,  and  in  minister- 
ing to  them  she  forgot  her  own  quandary 
and  perplexities.  At  last  the  light,  melodious 
numbers  of  Faust  and  Carmen  had  some  in- 
fluence with  them,  and  about  ten  the  three 
men  were  visibly  brighter.  They  were  in  the 
habit  of  taking  a  cup  of  tea  before  going  to 
bed;  to-night  Lucy  made  them  have  soup 
instead. 

It  was  a  few  minutes  after  the  hour,  when 
the  bell  rang;  in  a  moment  or  two,  Bob — 
extremely  anxious  to  efface  himself  as  much 
as  possible  after  the  event  of  the  afternoon — 
showed  Mr.  Carr  into  the  drawing-room. 

His  face  was  very  white  and  set.  "I  am 
extremely  sorry,"  he  said,  "to  call  on  you  so 
late,  but  have  you  seen  the  evening  papers, 
any  of  you?"  No  one  had  seen  them. 

"I'm  afraid  there  is  something  that  will 
give  you  great  pain,  a  great  shock.  It  has 
grieved  me  deeply,  it  must  be  worse  for 
you,  my  friend — thinking  as  you  do  of  the 
Eucharist." 


280  A  Lost  Cause 

"What  is  it?"  Father  Blantyre  said. 

Carr  held  out  an  evening  paper.  ' '  Briefly, ' ' 
he  said,  "while  we  were  at  the  meeting  down 
here,  Hamlyn,  Senior,  had  a  special  gathering 
of  extreme  Protestants  in  Exeter  Hall.  He 
produced  a  consecrated  wafer  and  exhibited  it, 
stating  that  he  had  purloined  it  from  the 
Holy  Communion  service  the  day  before. 
This  was  corroborated  by  two  men  who  went 
with  him  and  were  witnesses  of  the  act." 

Every  vestige  of  colour  left  the  faces  of  the 
three  priests  of  St.  Elwyn's.  Suddenly  Blan- 
tyre gave  a  little  moan  and  fainted,  sinking 
on  to  a  couch  behind  him. 

They  brought  him  round  without  much 
trouble,  and  King  helped  him  up-stairs  to  bed, 
refusing  to  let  him  go  into  the  church  as  he 
wished.  Lucy  saw  that  tears  were  falling 
silently  over  the  grim,  heavy  face  of  King. 

When  the  vicar  was  safely  bestowed  in  his 
room,  Stephens  and  King,  saying  nothing  to 
each  other,  but  acting  with  a  common  im- 
pulse, went  into  the  church.  In  the  side 
chapel,  where  the  dim  red  glow  of  the  sanc- 
tuary-lamp was  the  only  light,  they  remained 
on  their  knees  all  night,  praying  before  the 
Blessed  Sacrament. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  REPARATION    OF   JANE    PRITCHETT, 
EX-PROTESTANT 

ON  the  following  morning,  Blantyre  went 
away.  He  was  absent  from  Hornham 
for  two  days,  and  it  was  understood  that  he 
had  gone  to  visit  Lord  Huddersfield.  Ham- 
lyn  and  his  doings  were  not  in  any  way  men- 
tioned by  the  two  other  clergy. 

The  days  of  his  absence  were  a  time  of 
great  unrest  and  mental  debate  for  Lucy. 

She  was  at  a  crisis  in  her  life.  She  had 
definitely  come  to  a  moment  when  she  must 
choose  between  one  thing  or  another.  It  is  a 
commonplace  of  some  preachers  to  say  that  this 
moment  of  definite  choice  comes  to  every  one 
at  least  once  in  their  lives.  But  the  truth  of 
the  assertion  is  at  least  doubtful.  Many  people 
are  spared  the  pain  of  what  is  more  or  less  an  in- 
stantaneous decision.  They  merge  themselves 
gradually,  in  this  or  that  direction,  the  right  or 
the  wrong.  And  they  are  the  more  fortunate. 

For  Lucy,  however,  the  tide  was  at  the 
281 


282  A  Lost  Cause 

flood.  She  must  push  out  upon  it  and  hoist 
her  sail,  but  whether  she  should  go  east  or  west, 
run  before  the  wind  or  beat  up  into  the  heart 
of  it — that  she  must  now  decide. 

She  had  no  illusions  about  her  position. 
To  marry  James  Poyntz  meant  one  thing,  to 
refuse  him  meant  another.  In  the  first  place, 
she  wanted  to  be  married.  Physically,  so- 
cially, mentally,  she  was  perfectly  aware  that 
she  would  be  happier.  Her  nature  needed 
the  complement  of  a  husband.  She  was  pure, 
but  not  virginal,  in  temperament.  She  put  it 
to  herself  that — as  she  believed — she  had  a 
talent  for  wifehood. 

Here  was  a  young  man  who  satisfied  all  her 
instincts  of  what  was  fitting  in  a  man  she 
could  marry.  She  did  not  love  him,  but  she 
admired,  liked,  and  respected  him.  Some- 
thing of  the  not  unhealthy  cynicism — the 
sane  cynicism — of  a  woman  of  the  world  had 
entered  into  her.  She  was  n't  a  sentimental- 
ist, she  didn't  think  that  the  "love"  of  the 
poet  and  story-teller  was  the  only  thing  in 
the  relation  of  a  wife  to  a  husband.  She  had 
seen  many  marriages,  she  had  watched  the 
firm,  strong  affection  that  came  after  mar- 
riage, and  she  saw  that  it  was  a  good,  worthy, 
and  constant  thing. 


Reparation  of  Jane  Pritchett       283 

She  had  been  much  in  France.  Lady  Lin- 
quest  had  friends  and  relatives  among  the 
stately  families  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain. 
Those  weddings  in  France  that  were  decor- 
ously arranged  by  papa  and  mamma,  how  did 
they  turn  out?  On  the  whole  well  enough, 
happily  enough.  It  was  only  the  ignorant 
lower  middle-class  of  England  that  thought 
France  was  a  mighty  lupanar  and  adultery  a 
joke. 

And  in  marrying  Poyntz  she  would  marry 
a  man  whom  she  was  worthy  of  intellectually. 
He  would  satisfy  every  instinct  she  possessed 
— every  instinct  but  one. 

And  here,  she  knew,  here  lay  the  root  of 
the  whole  question. 

The  very  strongest  influence  that  can  direct 
and  urge  any  soul  towards  a  holy  life  is  the 
society  and  companionship,  even  the  distant 
contemplation,  of  a  saintly  man  or  woman. 

The  force  of  example  acts  as  a  lens.  It 
focuses  all  the  impulses  towards  good  and 
concentrates  them.  In  making  clear  the 
beauty  of  holiness,  it  shows  that  it  is  not  a 
vague  beauty,  but  an  ideal  which  may  be 
realised  by  the  observer. 

Lucy  had  been  living  with  saintly  folk. 
Bernard  was  saintly — if  ever  a  man  was;  the 


284  A  Lost  Cause 

bulldog,  King,  was  a  saint  and  walked  with 
God.  Stephens  was  a  schoolboy,  full  of 
slang  and  enthusiasm,  blunders  and  love  of 
humanity,  but  he  was  saintly  too.  Miss  Cass, 
the  housekeeper  with  the  face  of  a  horse,  who 
called  "day"  "dy"  and  the  Mass  "Mess," 
she  was  a  holy  woman.  Before  the  ugly,  un- 
lettered spinster,  the  society  girl,  with  all  her 
power  and  charm,  had  learned  to  bow  in  her 
mind. 

That  was  Lucy's  great  virtue.  She  was 
frank  with  herself.  She  glossed  over  nothing, 
she  pretended  nothing.  It  is  the  person  who 
postures  and  poses  before  himself  who  is  in 
the  chiefest  danger.  And  Carr,  well,  Carr  was 
a  saintly  man  also.  He  had  n't  got  the  more 
picturesque  trimmings  that  the  others  had. 
His  spiritual  life  was  not  so  vividly  expressed 
in,  and  witnessed  to,  by  his  clothes  and  daily 
habit  of  life.  But  he  was  a  saintly  man.  As 
she  thought  of  him  Lucy  thought  of  him  as 
man  and  saint. 

All  these  people  lived  for  one  thing,  had 
one  aim,  believed  one  thing. 

They  lived  to  serve  our  Lord,  to  do  His 
work,  to  adore  Him. 

Why,  even  Bob,  the  navvy,  whom  Father 
King  had  knocked  down  as  a  beery  blackguard 


Reparation  of  Jane  Pritchett       285 

and  set  up  again  as  a  butler,  even  Bob  was 
feeling  a  slow  and  ponderous  way  towards 
sainthood!  He  could  not  boast  a  first-rate 
intelligence,  but,  he  loved  our  Lord. 

Yes! — ah,  that  was  the  most  beautiful  thing 
of  all.  To  love  Him. 

"Do  I  love  Him?"  Lucy  asked  herself  dur- 
ing those  two  days. 

And  the  answer  that  came  to  her  was  a 
very  strange  one.  It  was  this.  She  loved 
our  Lord,  but  she  could  not  make  up  her 
mind  to  give  up  everything  earthly  and  ma- 
terial for  Him.  She  wanted  a  compromise. 

In  fact,  she  was  near  the  gates  of  the 
spiritual  life,  but  she  had  not  entered  them. 

She  did  not  disguise  one  fact  from  herself. 
If  she  married  Poyntz  she  would  immediately 
be  withdrawn,  and  withdrawn  for  ever,  from 
the  new  influences  which  were  beginning  to 
permeate  her,  to  draw  her  towards  the  state 
of  a  Christian  who  is  vowed  and  militant. 

She  knew  the  influence  that  as  her  husband 
James  would  have.  His  ideals  were  noble  and 
high,  his  life  was  pure  and  worthy.  But  it 
was  not  the  life  that  Christ  had  made  so  plain 
and  clear.  The  path  the  Church  showed  was 
not  the  path  James  would  follow,  or  one  which 
as  his  wife  she  could  well  follow. 


286  A  Lost  Cause 

She  believed  sincerely,  as  her  brother  him- 
self would  have  told  her,  that  a  man  like 
Poyntz  was  only  uneducated  in  spiritual 
things,  not  lost  to  them  for  ever. 

But  she  was  also  sure  that  he  would  make 
no  spiritual  discoveries  in  this  world. 

Marriage  with  him  meant  going  back.  It 
meant  turning  away  from  the  Light. 

The  struggle  with  the  training  of  years,  the 
earthly  ideals  of  nearly  all  her  life,  was  acute. 
But  hour  by  hour,  she  began  to  draw  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  inevitable  solution. 

Now  and  again,  she  went  into  the  silent 
church.  Then,  kneeling  before  the  Blessed 
Sacrament,  she  saw  the  path  quite  clear. 

Afterwards,  back  in  her  room  again,  the 
voices  of  the  material  world  were  heard.  But 
they  became  weaker  and  more  weak  as  the 
hours  went  on. 

On  the  day  that  Bernard  was  to  return,  she 
received  a  long  and  passionate  letter  from  her 
lover. 

He  had  the  wonderful  gift  of  prose.  He 
understood,  as  hardly  any  of  us  understand, 
how  to  treat  words  (on  certain  occasions  of 
using  them)  as  if  they  were  almost  notes  in 
some  musical  composition.  His  letter  was 
beautiful. 


Reparation  of  Jane  Pritchett      287 

She  read  it  page  by  page,  with  a  heart  that 
had  begun  to  beat  with  quickened  interest, 
until  she  came  to  a  passage  which  jarred  and 
hurt.  James  had  made  an  end  of  his  most 
impassioned  and  intimate  passages,  and  was 
making  his  keen  satiric  comment  upon  gen- 
eral affairs — quite  as  he  had  done  in  his  let- 
ters before  his  actual  avowal. 

"I  saw  my  father  to-day  in  St.  James,  and 
we  went  to  his  club  and  lunched  together.  I 
respect  him  more  and  more,  for  his  consist- 
ency, every  time  I  meet  him.  And  I  wonder 
more  and  more  at  his  childishness  at  the  same 
time.  It  seems  he  had  just  left  your  brother. 
As  you  are  in  the  thick  of  all  the  mumbo- 
jumbo,  perhaps  you  will  have  heard  of  the 
business  that  seems  to  be  agitating  my  poor 
dear  sire  into  a  fever.  It  seems  that,  a  day 
or  two  ago,  an  opposition  hero  who  has  con- 
secrated his  life  to  the  Protestant  cause — none 
other  than  the  notorious  Hamlyn  himself — 
purloined  a  consecrated  wafer  from  some 
church  and  has  been  exhibiting  it  at  public 
meetings  to  show  that  it  is  just  as  it  ever 
was — a  pinch  of  flour  and  no  more.  My 
father  has  made  himself  utterly  miserable 
over  the  proceedings  of  this  merry-andrew. 
As  you  know,  I  take  but  little  interest  in  the 


288 


squabbles  of  the  creeds,  but  the  spectacle  of 
a  sane  and  able  man  caught  up  in  the  centre 
of  these  phantasies  makes  me  pause  and  makes 
my  contempt  sweeten  into  pity." 

As  Lucy  read  the  letter,  she  thought  of  the 
scene  on  the  night  when  Carr  had  brought 
the  news.  She  thought  of  her  own  quick 
pain  as  she  heard  it,  of  how  her  brother  was 
struck  down  as  with  a  sword.  And  especially 
there  came  to  her  the  vision  of  the  two  priests, 
King  and  Stephens,  praying  all  night  long 
before  the  Host. 

She  pushed  the  letter  away  from  her,  nor 
did  she  read  it  again.  It  seemed  alien,  out  of 
tune  with  her  life. 

She  went  into  the  church  to  pray. 

When  she  came  away,  her  resolution  was 
nearly  taken. 

Bernard  came  home  about  three  in  the 
afternoon.  His  manner  was  quiet.  He  was 
sad,  but  he  seemed  relieved  also. 

Lucy  was  walking  in  the  garden  with  him, 
soon  after  his  return,  when  Stephens  and 
Dr.  Hibbert  came  down  from  the  house  and 
walked  quickly  up  to  them. 

"Vicar,"  the  doctor  said,  "Miss  Pritchett  is 
dying." 

Blantyre  started.     "Oh,  I  didn't  know  it 


Reparation  of  Jane  Pritchett       289 

was  as  bad  as  that,"  he  said.  "Is  it  immi- 
nent?" 

"A  matter  of  twenty  hours  I  should  say," 
the  doctor  replied;  "I  bring  you  a  message 
from  her." 

Blantyre's  face  lighted  up.  Great  tenderness 
came  over  it  as  he  heard  that  the  woman  who 
had  injured  him  and  sought  to  harm  the 
Church  had  sent  him  a  message. 

' '  Poor  woman, ' '  he  said ;  ' '  what  is  it — God 
bless  her!" 

"She  has  asked  for  you  and  the  other 
clergy  to  come  to  her.  She  wishes  me  to 
bring  you  and  such  other  members  of  the 
congregation  as  will  come.  She  wishes  to 
make  a  profession  of  Faith." 

"But  when,  how — "  the  vicar  asked,  be- 
wildered. 

The  doctor  explained.  "The  Hamlyns  are 
with  her ;  she  is  frightened  by  them,  but  not 
only  that,  she  bitterly  repents  what  she  has 
done.  Poor  soul!  Blantyre,  she  is  very  peni- 
tent, she  remembers  the  Faith.  She  asks 
He  drew  the  vicar  aside.  Lucy  could 
hear  no  more.  But  she  saw  deep  sympathy 
come  out  upon  her  brother's  face. 

The  three  men — Stephens  had  remained 
with  the  doctor — came  near  her  again. 


290  A  Lost  Cause 

"My  motor  is  outside,"  the  doctor  said 
hurriedly. 

"How  long  would  it  take?"  asked  the 
vicar. 

" if  the  Bishop  is  in — back  in  an  hour 

and  a  half " 

The  vicar  took  Stephens  aside  and  spoke 
earnestly  with  him  for  a  few  moments.  The 
young  man  listened  gravely  and  then  hurried 
away.  Before  the  vicar  and  the  doctor 
joined  Lucy  again — they  stood  in  private  talk 
a  moment — she  heard  the  ' '  toot ' '  of  the  motor- 
car hum  on  the  other  side  of  the  garden  wall. 

Wondering  what  all  this  might  mean,  she 
was  about  to  cross  the  lawn  towards  the  two 
men,  when  she  saw  Father  King  and  Mr.  Carr 
coming  out  of  the  house.  These  two  joined 
the  vicar  and  Dr.  Hibbert.  The  four  men 
stood  in  a  ring.  Blantyre  seemed  to  be  ex- 
plaining something  to  the  newcomers.  Now 
and  then  the  doctor  broke  in  with  a  burst  of 
rapid  explanation. 

Lucy  began  to  be  full  of  wonder.  She  felt 
ignored,  she  tried  not  to  feel  that.  Some- 
thing was  afoot  that  she  did  not  quite  under- 
stand. 

In  the  middle  of  her  wonder  the  men  came 
towards  her. 


Reparation  of  Jane  Pritchett       291 

Bernard  took  her  arm.  "Mavourneen,"  he 
said,  "will  you  come  with  us  to  poor  Miss 
Pritchett?  She's  been  asking  if  you'll  come 
and  forgive  her  and  part  good  friends.  She 
may  die  to-night,  the  doctor  says.  You'll 
come?" 

"Of  course  111  come,  dear." 

"She  has  repented  of  her  hostility  to  the 
Church,  and  desires  to  make  a  public  state- 
ment of  her  faith  before  she  dies.  And  she 
has  asked  for  the  Sacrament  of  Unction. 
.  .  .  Stephens  has  gone  to  the  Bishop  of 
Stepney  on  the  doctor's  motor-car.  In  an 
hour  we  will  go  to  Malakoff." 

The  doctor  took  King  by  the  arm  and  led 
him  away.  They  talked  earnestly  together. 

Blantyre  turned  to  Carr. 

"Will  ye  come  with  us  all  to  the  poor  soul's 
bedside?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  Carr  answered.  "I  don't  know 
what  you  purpose  exactly — and  I  don't  care! 
I  trust  you  as  a  brother  now,  Blantyre,  I  am 
learning  every  day.  I  'm  a  conservative,  you 
know,  new  things  are  distasteful  to  me.  But 
I  am  learning  that  there  are.  medicines,  pro 
salute  aninuB." 

"New  things!"  Blantyre  said;  "ye 're  an 
old  Protestant  at  heart  still.  Did  they 


292  A  Lost  Cause 

teach  ye  no  history  at  Cambridge  except  that 
the  Church  of  England  began  at  the  Reforma- 
tion? Now,  listen  while  I  tell  you  what  the 
service  is.  You  remember  St.  James  v.  14, 

is?" 

Carr  nodded.  He  began  to  quote  from 
memory,  for  his  knowledge  of  the  Scriptures 
was  profound,  a  knowledge  even  more  accur- 
ate and  full  than  perhaps  any  of  the  three 
priests  of  St.  Elwyn's  could  claim,  though 
they  were  scholars  and  students  one  and  all. 

"Is  any  sick  among  you?  let  him  call  for 
the  elders  of  the  church;  and  let  them  pray 
over  him,  anointing  him  with  oil  in  the  name 
of  our  Lord;  and  the  prayer  of  faith  shall 
save  the  sick,  and  the  Lord  shall  raise  him 
up,  and  if  he  have  committed  sins,  they  shall 
be  forgiven  him." 

"Well,  I  suppose  that  is  fairly  explicit?" 
Blantyre  said.  "Mr.  Hamlyn  would  tell  us 
that  Unction  is  a  conjuring  trick  invented  by 
the  Jesuits.  And  you  have  always  thought  it 
Popish  and  superstitious.  Now,  have  n't  you, 
Carr,  be  honest!" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  you  will  see  the  service  to-day.  We 
follow  the  ancient  order  of  the  Church  of 
England.  Why  did  you  object,  Carr?  I'd 


Reparation  of  Jane  Pritchett       293 

like  to  get  at  your  mental  attitude.  What  is 
there  unscriptural,  bad,  or  unseemly  about 
Unction?  Here's  a  poor  woman  who  has 
strayed  from  the  fold.  She  wishes  to  die  at 
peace  with  every  one,  she  wishes  that  the 
inward  unction  of  the  Holy  Spirit  may  be 
poured  into  the  wounds  of  her  soul,  she  wants 
to  be  forgiven  for  the  sake  of  our  Lord's  most 
meritorious  Cross  and  Passion!  If  it  is  God's 
will,  she  may  be  cured." 

He  spoke  with  great  fervour  and  earnest- 
ness. 

Carr  bowed  his  head  and  thought.  "Yes," 
he  said,  "I  have  been  very  prejudiced  and 
hard,  sometimes.  It  is  so  easy  to  condemn 
what  one  does  not  know  about,  so  hard  to 
have  sympathy  with  what  one  has  not 
appreciated." 

Blantyre  caught  him  by  the  arm  and  they 
walked  the  lawn  for  a  long  time  in  fraternal 
intercourse. 

Lucy  sat  down  with  the  doctor,  but  her 
eyes  often  turned  to  the  tall,  grave  figure, 
whose  lengthening  shadow  sometimes  reached 
to  her  feet  and  touched  them. 

At  last  they  heard  the  panting  of  the  re- 
turning motor-car.  Stephens  had  arrived 
with  the  oil  that  the  Bishop  had  blessed. 


294  A  Lost  Cause 

The  whole  party  got  into  the  car,  which 
was  a  large  one,  and  they  set  off  rapidly 
through  the  streets  towards  Malakoff  House. 

How  strange  it  was,  Lucy  thought,  this 
swift  career  of  moderns  in  the  wonderful 
machine  of  their  age,  this  rush  to  the  bedside 
of  a  dying  woman  with  the  last  consolation 
of  the  Church!  It  was  full  of  awe,  but  full  of 
sweetness  also.  It  seemed  to  show — and  how 
plainly — the  divine  continuity  of  the  Faith, 
the  harmonic  welding  of  the  order  and  tradi- 
tions of  our  Lord's  own  time  with  the  full 
vivid  life  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

They  were  shown  into  the  grim  house. 
Truly  the  shadow  of  death  seemed  to  lie 
there,  was  exhaled  from  the  massive  funereal 
furniture  of  a  bygone  generation,  with  all  its 
faded  pomp  and  circumstance. 

The  mistress  of  it  all  was  going  away  from 
it  for  ever,  would  never  hold  her  tawdry 
court  in  that  grim  drawing-room  any  more. 

Dr.  Coxe,  Hibbert's  assistant,  came  down- 
stairs and  met  them. 

"I  have  got  the  two  Hamlyns  out  of  the 
house  at  last,"  he  whispered.  "They  were 
distressing  the  patient  greatly.  I  insisted, 
however.  We  had  a  row  on  the  stairs — for- 
tunately, I  don't  think  the  patient  could  hear 


Reparation  of  Jane  Pritchett       295 

it.  I'm  sorry,  doctor,  but  I  had  to  use  a 
little  physical  persuasion  to  the  young  one. " 

"Never  mind,  Coxe,"  Hibbert  answered. 
"I'll  see  that  nothing  comes  of  it.  They 
won't  dare  to  do  anything.  I  will  see  to  that. 
Is  Miss  Pritchett  ready?  Can  we  go  up?" 

"Yes,"  the  young  man  answered,  looking 
curiously  at  the  four  priests  and  the  grave 
girl  who  was  with  them  in  her  gay  summer 
frock.  ' '  Miss  Davies  is  there. ' ' 

He  was  a  big,  young  Scotsman,  with  a  pro- 
found contempt  for  religion,  but  skilled  and 
tender  in  his  work,  nevertheless. 

"Will  you  come  up?"  Hibbert  whispered, 
taking  him  a  little  apart  from  the  others. 

"I'd  rather  be  excused,  old  man,"  he  an- 
swered. "Call  me  if  I'm  wanted.  I  can't 
stand  this  mumbo-jumbo,  you  know!" 

Hibbert  nodded  curtly.  He  understood 
the  lad  very  well.  "Will  you  follow  me, 
Father?"  he  said  to  Blantyre. 

Blantyre  put  on  his  surplice  and  stole. 
Then  they  all  went  silently  up  the  wide  stairs, 
with  their  soft  carpet  and  carved  balusters, 
into  the  darkened  chamber  of  death. 

The  dying  woman  was  propped  up  by  pil- 
lows. Her  face  was  the  colour  of  grey  linen,  the 
fringes  of  hair  she  wore  in  health  were  gone. 


296  A  Lost  Cause 

A  faint  smile  came  to  her  lips.  Then,  as 
she  saw  Lucy,  she  called  to  her  in  a  clear, 
thin  voice  that  seemed  as  if  it  came  from 
very  far  away. 

' '  Kiss  me,  my  dear, ' '  she  said ;  ' '  forgive  me. ' ' 

Lucy  kissed  the  old,  wrinkled  face  tenderly. 
Her  tears  fell  upon  it  in  a  sacrament  of  for- 
giveness and  holy  amity. 

"I  want  just  to  say  to  all  of  you,"  Miss 
Pritchett  said,  "that  I  have  been  untrue  to 
what  I  really  believed,  and  I  have  helped  the 
enemies  of  the  Faith.  I  never  forgot  your 
teaching,  Father,  I  knew  all  the  time  I  was 
doing  wrong.  I  ask  all  of  you  to  forgive  me 
as  I  believe  Jesus  has  forgiven  me." 

A  murmur  of  kindliness  came  from  them 
all. 

"Then  I  can  go  in  peace,"  she  gasped. 
Then  with  a  faint  and  pathetic  shadow  of  her 
old  manner  she  turned  to  Gussie.  "Hush!" 
she  said.  "Stop  sniffling,  Miss  Davies!  I  am 
very  happy.  Now,  Father " 

Her  eyes  closed  and  her  hands  remained 
still.  They  saw  all  earthly  thoughts  die  out 
of  the  wrinkled  old  face,  now  turned  wholly 
to  God. 

They  all  knelt  save  the  vicar,  who  had 
placed  the  oil  in  an  ampulla  upon  a  table. 


Reparation  of  Jane  Pritchett       297 

Then  he  began  the  yist  Psalm.  "In  Thee, 
O  Lord,  have  I  put  my  trust,  let  me  never 
be  put  to  confusion:  but  rid  me,  and  deliver 
me,  in  Thy  righteousness,  incline  Thine  ear 
unto  me,  and  save  me." 

There  was  no  sound  in  the  chamber  save 
that  of  the  ancient  Hebrew  song. 

"Forsake  me  not,  O  God,  in  mine  old 
age,  when  I  am  grey-headed:  until  I  have 
showed  Thy  strength  unto  this  generation, 
and  Thy  power  to  all  them  that  are  yet  for  to 
come. 

"Thy  righteousness,  O  God,  is  very  high: 
and  great  things  are  they  that  Thou  hast 
done;  O  God,  who  is  like  unto  Thee?" 

Then,  all  together,  they  said  the  antiphon: 
' '  0  Saviour  of  the  world,  who  by  Thy  Cross  and 
precious  Blood  hast  redeemed  us,  save  us  and 
help  us,  we  humbly  beseech  Thee,  0  Lord." 

The  central  figure  in  the  huge  four-post 
bed  lay  still  and  waxen.  But  when  the  priest 
came  up  to  it  with  the  oil,  the  eyes  opened 
and  looked  steadfastly  into  his  face. 

He  dipped  his  thumb  into  the  silver  vessel 
and  made  the  sign  of  the  Cross  on  the  eyes, 
the  ears,  the  lips,  the  nostrils,  and  the  hands, 
saying  each  time  as  he  did  so: 

"Through   this  unction,   and  of   His   most 


298  A  Lost  Cause 

tender  mercy,  may  the  Lord  pardon  thee  what- 
ever sins  thou  hast  committed." 

The  whispering  words  that  brought  renewal 
of  lost  innocence  to  the  dying  woman  sank 
into  Lucy's  heart,  never  to  leave  it.  In  the 
presence  of  these  wondrous  mysteries,  death, 
and  death  vanquished  by  Christ,  sin  purged 
and  forgiven  in  the  Sacrament,  her  resolution 
was  made.  She  knew  that  she  would  fix  her 
eyes  upon  the  Cross,  never  to  take  them  from 
it  more. 

She  saw  her  brother  bending  over  the  still 
figure,  his  white  surplice  ghostlike  in  the 
gloom  of  the  hangings,  as  he  wiped  the 
anointed  parts  with  wool. 

Then  Stephens  brought  him  a  basin'  of  clear 
water  and  he  washed  his  hands. 

Raising  his  arm,  .he  said : 

"In  the  name  of  the  Father,  and  of  the  Son, 
and  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  may  this  anointing  with 
oil  be  to  thee  for  the  purification  of  thy  mind 
and  body,  and  may  it  fortify  and  defend  thee 
against  the  darts  of  evil  spirits.  Amen." 

Two  more  prayers  were  said  and  then  came 
the  Blessing. 

All  rose  from  their  knees.  As  Lucy  slipped 
from  the  room,  she  saw  the  doctor  was  bend- 
ing over  the  waxen  figure  in  the  bed. 


Reparation  of  Jane  Pritchett       299 

She  heard  her  brother  and  his  two  assistant 
priests  beginning  other  prayers,  in  a  louder 
voice,  a  sort  of  litany,  it  seemed. 

She  found  Carr  was  beside  her  descending 
the  stairs. 

"What  is  that?"  she  whispered. 

"The  prayers  for  the  commendation  of  a 
departing  soul;  she  is  going.  God  rest  her 
and  give  her  peace." 

"Amen,"  said  Lucy. 

They  came  down  into  the  hall,  where  they 
stood  for  a  moment  quite  alone.  Both  were 
greatly  agitated,  both  felt  drawn  together  by 
some  great  power. 

"How  beautiful  it  is!"  Carr  said  at  length. 
"Our  Lord  is  with  her.  May  we  all  die 
so." 

' '  Poor,  dear  woman ! ' ' 

"In  a  few  moments  she  will  be  in  the 
supreme  and  ineffable  glory  of  Paradise.  I 
want  to  see  trees  and  flowers,  to  think  hap- 
pily of  the  wonderful  mercy  and  goodness  of 
God  among  the  things  He  has  made.  I 
should  like  to  walk  in  the  park  for  an  hour, 
to  hear  the  birds  and  see  the  children  play. 
Will  you  come  with  me?" 

"Yes,  I  will  come." 

He  took  her  hand  and  bowed  low  over  it. 


300  A  Lost  Cause 

"I  have  a  great  thing  to  ask  of  you,"  he 
said. 

They  walked  soberly  together  until  they 
came  to  the  railed-in  open  space.  To  each  the 
air  seemed  thick  with  unspoken  thoughts. 

The  park  was  a  poor  place  enough.  But 
flowers  grew  there,  the  grass  was  green,  it 
was  not  quite  Hornham.  They  sat  upon  a 
bench  and  for  a  minute  or  two  both  were 
silent.  Lucy  knew  a  serenity  at  this  moment 
such  as  she  had  hardly  ever  known.  She  was 
as  some  mariner  who,  at  the  close  of  a 
long  and  tempestuous  voyage,  comes  at  even- 
tide towards  harbour  over  a  still  sea.  The 
coastwise  lights  begin  to  glimmer,  the  haven 
is  near. 

In  her  mind  and  heart,  at  that  moment, 
she  was  reconciled  to  and  in  tune  with  all 
that  is  beautiful  in  human  and  Divine. 

She  sat  there,  this  well-known  society  girl, 
who,  all  her  life,  had  lived  with  the  great  and 
wealthy  of  the  world,  in  great  content.  In 
the  "  park"  of  Hornham,  with  the  poor  clergy- 
man, she  knew  supreme  content. 

In  a  low  voice  that  shook  with  the  inten- 
sity of  his  feeling  and  yet  was  resolute  and 
informed  with  strength,  Carr  asked  Lucy  to 
be  his  wife. 


Reparation  of  Jane  Pritchett      "301 

She  gave  him  her  hand  very  simply  and 
happily.  A  river  that  had  long  been  weary 
had  at  last  wound  safe  to  sea.  That  she 
should  be  the  wife  of  this  man  was,  she  knew, 
one  of  the  gladdest  and  most  merciful  ordi- 
nances of  God. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    ARCHBISHOP    AND   THE    HAMLYNS 

GUSSIE  DAVIES  says  that  she's  sure 
that  Miss  Pritchett  has  n't  added  a 
codicil,"  said  Mr.  Sam  Hamlyn, coining  into  the 
inner  room  at  the  offices  of  the  Luther  League. 

Mr.  Hamlyn,  Senior,  had  been  at  work  for 
some  hours,  but  his  son  had  only  just  arrived 
in  the  Strand.  It  was  the  day  after  Miss 
Pritchett's  death,  and  Sam  had  remained  in 
North  London  to  make  a  few  inquiries. 

"What  a  blessing  of  Providence,"  said  the 
secretary.  "There's  something  to  be  said  for 
a  ritualistic  way  of  dying,  after  all!  If  it 
'ad  n't  been  for  her  messing  about  with  the  oil 
and  that,  she'd  have  sent  for  her  solicitor  and 
cut  the  League  out  of  her  will !  The  priests  have 
been  'oist  with  their  own  petard  this  time." 

"I  wonder  how  much  it'll  be,"  Sam  said 
reflectively. 

"I  don't  anticipate  a  penny  less  than  two 
thousand  pound,"  said  Mr.  Hamlyn,  triumph- 
antly. "P'raps-  a  good  bit  over.  You  see, 

302 


The  Archbishop  and  the  Hamlyns    303 

we  got  'er  just  at  the  last  moment.  It  was 
me  taking  the  consecrated  wafer  did  it.  She 
woke  up  as  pleased  as  Punch,  it  gave  her 
strength  for  the  afternoon,  and  had  the  law- 
yer round  at  once.  I  never  thought  she'd 
go  off  so  sudden,  though." 

"Nor  did  I,  Pa.  Well,  it's  a  blessing  that 
she  was  able  to  contribute  her  mite  towards 
Protestant  Truth  before  she  went." 

"What?  "  said  Mr.  Hamlyn  sharply; 
"mite? — has  Gussie  Davies  any  idea  of  'ow 
much  the  legacy  is,  then?" 

"I  only  spoke  figuratively  like,  Father." 
"How  you  startled  me,   Sam!"  said  the 
secretary,  his  face  resuming  its  wonted  ex- 
pression of  impudent  good  humour. 

"How's  the  cash  list  to-day?"  Sam  asked. 
"Pretty  fair,"  answered  his  father,  "matter 
of  five  pound  odd.     It's  me  getting  hold  of 
that  wafer,  it 's  sent  the  subscriptions  up  won- 
derful.    I  would  n't  part- 
Sam,  who  was  sitting  with  his  back  to  the 
door  of  the  room,  saw  his  father's  jaw  drop 
suddenly.     His  voice  died  away  with  a  mur- 
mur, his  face  went  pale,  his  eyes  protruded. 

The  younger  man  wheeled  round  his  chair. 
Then  he  started  up,  with  an  exclamation  of 
surprise  and  fear. 


304  A  Lost  Cause 

Both  the  Protestant  champions,  indeed, 
behaved  as  if  they  had  been  discovered  in 
some  fraud  by  an  agent  of  the  law. 

Two  people  had  come  suddenly  into  the 
room,  without  knocking  or  being  announced. 
The  secretaries  saw  the  blanched  face  of  a 
clerk  behind  them. 

During  its  existence,  the  Luther  League  had 
welcomed  some  fairly  well-known  folk  within 
its  doors. 

This  afternoon,  however,  a  most  unex- 
pected honour  had  been  paid  to  it — probably 
the  reason  of  Hamlyn's  extreme  uneasiness. 

A  broad,  square  man  of  considerable  height, 
with  a  stern,  furrowed  face,  wearing  an  apron 
and  gaiters,  stood  there,  with  a  thunder-cloud 
of  anger  on  his  face. 

It  was  His  Grace,  the  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury. 

Lord  Huddersfield  was  with  him. 

The  Archbishop  looked  steadfastly  at  Ham- 
lyn  for  a  few  seconds.  His  face  was  terrible. 

In  the  presence  of  the  great  spiritual  lord 
who  is  next  to  the  royal  family  in  the  pre- 
cedence of  the  realm,  the  famous  scholar,  the 
caustic  wit,  the  utter  force  and  power  of  intel- 
lect, the  two  champions  were  dumb.  Hamlyn 
had  never  known  anything  like  it  before. 


The  Archbishop  and  the  Hamlyns    305 

The  fellow's  bounce  and  impudence  utterly 
deserted  him. 

The  Archbishop  spoke.  His  naturally 
rather  harsh  and  strident  voice  was  rendered 
tenfold  more  penetrating  and  terrifying  by 
his  wrath. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  in  a  torrent  of  menacing 
sound,  "you  have  profaned  the  Eucharist, 
you  have  mocked  the  holy  things  of  God, 
you  have  made  the  most  sacred  ordinance  of 
our  Lord  a  mountebank  show.  You  boast 
that  you  have  purloined  the  Consecrated 
Bread  from  church,  you  have  exhibited  it. 
Restore  it  to  me,  wretched  man  that  you  are. 
By  the  authority  of  God,  I  demand  you  to 
restore  it;  by  my  authority  as  head  of  the 
English  Church,  I  order  you." 

Hamlyn  shrank  from  the  terrible  old  man 
clothed  in  the  power  of  his  great  office  and  the 
majesty  of  his  holy  anger,  shrank  as  a  man 
shrinks  from  a  flame. 

With  shaking  hands  he  took  a  bunch  of 
keys  from  his  pocket.  He  dropped  them  upon 
the  floor,  unable  to  open  the  lock  of  the  safe. 

Young  Hamlyn  picked  them  up.  He 
turned  the  key  in  the  wards  with  a  loud  click 
and  pulled  at  the  massive  door  until  it  slowly 
swung  open. 


306  A  Lost  Cause 

Lord  Huddersfield  knelt  down. 

Hamlyn  took  from  a  shelf  a  little  box  that 
had  held  elastic  bands. 

The  Archbishop  started  and  flushed  a  deep 
crimson. 

He  took  a  pyx  from  his  pocket  and  rever- 
ently took  out  the  desecrated  Host  from  the 
box,  placing  it  in  the  pyx. 

Then,  with  a  face  that  was  suffused  to  a 
deep  purple,  he  touched  the  kneeling  peer 
upon  the  shoulder.  Lord  Huddersfield  rose 
with  a  deep  sob  of  relief. 

The  Archbishop  looked  once  at  Hamlyn,  a 
look  the  man  never  forgot. 

Then  the  two  visitors  turned  and  went 
away  as  swiftly  and  silently  as  they  had  come. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  either  father  or 
son  spoke  a  word. 

At  last  Hamlyn  cleared  his  throat  and 
mouthed  a  sentence.  It  would  not  come. 
All  that  Sam  could  catch  were  the  words 

"PROTESTANT  TRUTH!" 


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